THE 
SIGN  or* 


"THE 

SPIDER 


THE 

SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER 


BY 

BERTRAM  MITFORD 

AUTHOR  OF   "A  VELDT  OFFICIAL,"    "  'TWIXT 
SNOW  AND  FIRE" 


DODD  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 
1897 


COPYRIGHT,  1896, 

BY 
DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  "  PACK 

I.  "  SWEET  HOME,"  i 

II.  ADAM'S  FIRST  WIFE, u 

III.  "  BEWARE  SUCH  UNHOLY  SPELLS,"      .        .        .26 

IV.  THE  LAND  OF  PROMISE,            ....          41 
V.  KING  SCRIP,  54 

VI.  "  PIRATE  "  HAZON,  67 

VII.  "THE  WHOLE  SOUL  PRISONER  ..."         .       .82 

VIII.  DARK  DAYS, 94 

IX.  His  GUARDIAN  ANGEL,  106 

X.  PREPARATION,  120 

XI.  "  AT  THE  TWELFTH  HOUR,"        .        .        .        .130 

XII.  "THE  DARK  PLACES  OF  THE  EARTH,"    .        .        145 

XIII.  THE  MAN  HUNTER,       .        .        .        .        .        .155 

XIV.  A  DREAM, 163 

XV.  AN  AWAKENING,    .        .       .        .        .        .        .174 

XVI.  AN  ANGEL  UNAWARES 184 

XVII.  DISSENSIONS, 195 

XVIII.  Two  PERILS, 205 

XIX.  THE  SIGN,  215 

XX.  TOWHATEND! 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXI.  "  THE  STRONG  WIND  THAT  BURNS   FROM  THE 

NORTH," 235 

XXII.  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  MYSTERY,  .        .        .  246 

XXIII.  LlNDELA,                    257 

XXIV.  As  FROM   THE  DEAD, 268 

XXV.  His  LIFE  FOR  His  FRIEND 279 

XXVI.  THE  PLACE  OF  THE  HORROR,        .        .       .  290 

XXVII.  THE  HORROR,             301 

XXVIII.  "  ONLY  A  SAVAGE  ! " 313 

XXIX.  "  A  DEEP— A  SOLITARY  GRAVE,"     .       .        .324 

XXX.  "  GOOD-BYE,  MY  IDEAL  !"       ....  334 

XXXI.  CONCLUSION, 348 


THE  SIGN  OF  THE  SPIDER. 

CHAPTER  L,^v  j  V. 

"  SWEET  HOME!  '*  '  /.         ;  J  •;  f«, ' 

SHE  was  talking  a£  him. 

This  was  a  thing  she  frequently  did,  and  she  had 
two  ways  of  doing  it.  One  was  to  talk  at  him  through 
a  third  party  when  they  two  were  not  alone  together; 
the  other  to  convey  moralizings  and  innuendo  for  his 
edification  when  they  were — as  in  the  present  case. 

Just  now  she  was  extolling  the  superabundant 
virtues  of  somebody  else's  husband,  with  a  tone  and 
meaning  which  were  intended  to  convey  to  Laurence 
Stanninghame  that  she  wished  to  Heaven  one- 
twentieth  part  of  them  was  vested  in  hers. 

He  was  accustomed  to  being  thus  talked  at.  He 
ought  to  be,  seeing  he  had  known  about  thirteen  years 
of  it,  on  and  off.  But  he  did  not  like  it  any  the  better 
from  force  of  habit.  We  doubt  if  anybody  ever  does. 
However,  he  had  long  ceased  to  take  any  notice,  in 
the  way  of  retort,  no  matter  how  acrid  the  tone,  how 
biting  the  innuendo.  Now,  pushing  back  his  chair 
from  the  breakfast-table,  he  got  up,  and,  turning  to 
the  mantelpiece,  proceeded  to  fill  a  pipe.  His  spouse, 
exasperated  by  his  silence,  continued  to  talk  at — his 
back. 


,     *      THE   SIGN   OF  THE  SPIDER. 

The  sickly  rays  of  the  autumn  sun  struggled  feebly 
through  the  murk  of  the  suburban  atmosphere,  creep- 
ing half-ashamedly  over  the  well-worn  carpet,  then 
up  to  the  dingy  wall-paper,  whose  dinginess  had  this 
redeeming  point,  that  it  toned  down  what  otherwise 
would  have  been  staring,  crude,  hideous.  The  furni- 
ture was  battered  and  worn,  and  there  was  an  atmos- 
{jl\eFe  of  \(JuJtJfl£|s,-  thick-laid,  grimy,  which  seemed 
jnseparable^frorri  'fhe^  place.  In  the  street  a  piano- 
fcii^atos^e.ngfiteetfefl'.by/a  brace  of  sham  Italians,  was 
rapping  out  the  latest  music-hall  abomination.  Lau- 
rence Stanninghame  turned  again  to  his  wife,  who  was 
still  seated  at  the  table. 

"  Continue,"  he  said.  "  It  is  a  great  art  knowing 
when  to  make  the  most  of  one's  opportunities,  which, 
for  present  purposes,  may  be  taken  to  mean  that 
you  had  better  let  off  all  the  steam  you  can,  for  you 
have  only  two  days  more  to  do  it  in — only  two  whole 
days." 

"  Going  away  again?  "  (staccato). 

Laurence  nodded,  and  emitted  a  cloud  or  two  of 
smoke. 

There  rumbled  forth  a  cannonade  of  words,  which 
did  not  precisely  express  approval.  Then,  staccato: 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  this  time?  " 

"  Johannesburg." 

"What?    But  it's  nonsense." 

"  It's  fact." 

"  Well — of  course  you  can't  go." 

"  Who  says  so?  " 

"  Of  course  you  can't  go,  and  leave  us  here  all 
alone,"  she  replied,  speaking  quickly.  "  Why,  it's  too 


"SWEET   HOME!" 

preposterous!  I've  been  treated  shamefully  enough 
all  these  years,  but  this  puts  the  crowning  straw  on  to 
it,"  she  went  on,  beginning  to  mix  her  metaphor,  as 
angry  people — and  especially  angry  women — will. 
"  Of  course  you  can't  go !  " 

To  one  statement,  as  made  above,  he  was  at  no 
pains  to  reply.  He  had  heard  it  so  often  that  it  had 
long  since  passed  into  the  category  of  "  not  new,  not 
true,  and  doesn't  matter."  To  the  other  he  answered : 

"  I've  an  idea  that  the  term  '  of  course '  makes  the 
other  way;  I  can  go,  and  I  am  going — in  fact,  I  have 
already  booked  my  passage  by  the  Persian,  sailing 
from  Southampton  the  day  after  to-morrow.  Look! 
will  that  convince  you?"  holding  out  the  passage 
ticket. 

Then  there  was  a  scene — an  awful  racket.  It  was 
infamous.  She  would  not  put  up  with  such  treatment. 
It  amounted  to  desertion,  and  so  forth.  Yes,  it  was 
a  "  scene,"  indeed.  But  force  of  habit  had  utterly 
dulled  its  effectiveness  as  a  weapon.  Indeed,  the  only 
effect  it  might  have  been  calculated  to  produce  in  the 
mind  of  the  offending  party  had  he  not  already  secured 
his  berth,  would  be  that  of  moving  him  to  sally  forth 
and  carry  out  that  operation  on  the  spot. 

"  Look  here ! "  he  said,  when  failure  of  breath  and 
vocabulary  had  perforce  effected  a  lull.  "  I've  had 
about  enough  of  this  awful  life,  and  so  I'm  going  to 
try  if  I  can't  do  something  to  set  things  right  again, 
before  it's  too  late.  Now,  the  Johannesburg  '  boom  ' 
is  the  thing  to  do  it,  if  anything  will.  It's  kill  or  cure." 

"And  what  if  it's  kill?" 

"  What  if  it's  kill?    Then,  one  may  as  well  take  it 

3 


THE  SIGN   OF  THE  SPIDEP. 

fighting.  Better,  anyway,  than  scattering  one's  brains 
on  that  hearth-rug  some  morning  in  the  small  hours 
out  of  sheer  disgust  with  the  dead  hopelessness  of  life. 
That's  what  it  is  coming  to  as  things  now  are." 

"  All  very  well.  But,  in  that  case,  what  is  to  become 
of  me — of  us?" 

A  very  hard  look  came  into  the  man's  face  at  the 
question. 

"  In  that  case — draw  on  the  other  side  of  the  house. 
There's  plenty  there,"  he  answered  shortly,  re-lighting 
his  pipe,  which  had  gone  out  in  mid-blast. 

The  reply  seemed  to  fan  up  her  wrath  anew,  and 
she  started  in  to  talk  at  him  again.  Under  which 
circumstances,  perhaps  it  was  just  as  well  that  a  couple 
of  heavy  bangs  overhead  and  a  series  of  appalling  yells, 
betokening  a  nursery  catastrophe,  should  cut  short 
her  eloquence,  and  start  her  off,  panic-stricken,  to 
investigate. 

Left  alone,  still  standing  with  his  back  to  the  mantel- 
piece, Laurence  Stanninghame  put  forth  a  hand.  It 
shook — was,  in  fact,  all  of  a  tremble. 

"  Look  at  that!  "  he  said  to  himself.  "  The  squalid 
racket  of  this  rough-and-tumble  life  is  playing  the 
devil  with  my  nerves.  I  believe  I  couldn't  drink  a 
wineglassful  of  grog  at  this  moment  without  spilling 
half  of  it  on  the  floor.  I'll  try,  anyhow." 

He  unlocked  a  chiffonier,  produced  a  whisky  bottle, 
and,  having  poured  some  into  a  wineglass,  not  filling 
it,  tossed  off  the  "  nip." 

"That's  better,"  he  said.  Then  mechanically  he 
moved  to  the  window  and  stood  looking  out,  though 
in  reality  seeing  nothing.  He  was  thinking — think- 

4 


"SWEET   HOME!'* 

ing  hard.  The  course  he  had  decided  to  adopt  was 
the  right  thing — as  to  that  he  had  no  sort  of  doubt. 
He  had  no  regular  income,  and  such  remnant  of  capital 
as  he  still  possessed  was  dwindling  alarmingly.  Men 
had  made  fortunes  at  places  like  Johannesburg,  start- 
ing with  almost  literally  the  traditional  half-crown, 
why  should  not  he?  Not  that  he  expected  to  make  a 
fortune;  a  fair  competence  would  satisfy  him,  a  suffi- 
ciency. The  thought  of  no  longer  being  obliged  to 
hold  an  inquest  on  every  sixpence ;  of  bidding  farewell 
forever  to  this  life  of  pinching  and  screwing ;  of  dwell- 
ing decently  instead  of  pigging  it  in  a  cramped  and 
jerry-built  semi-detached;  of  enjoying  once  more 
some  of  life's  brightnesses — sport,  for  instance,  of 
which  he  was  passionately  fond ;  of  the  means  to  wan- 
der, when  disposed,  through  earth's  fairest  places — 
these  reflections  would  have  fired  his  soul  as  he  stood 
there,  but  that  the  flame  of  hopefulness  had  long  since 
died  within  him  and  gone  out.  Now  they  only  evoked 
bitterness  by  their  tantalizing  allurement. 

Other  men  had  made  their  pile,  why  should  not  he? 
Rainsford,  for  instance,  who  had  been,  if  possible, 
more  down  on  his  luck  than  himself — Rainsford  had 
gone  out  to  the  new  gold  town  while  it  was  yet  very 
new  and  had  made  a  good  thing  of  it.  Two  or  three 
other  acquaintances  of  his  had  gone  there  and  had 
made  very  much  more  than  a  good  thing  of  it.  Why 
should  not  he? 

Laurence  Stanninghame  was  just  touching  middle 
age.  As  he  stood  at  the  window,  the  murky  Septem- 
ber sun  seemed  to  bring  out  the  lines  and  wrinkles  of 
his  clear-cut  face,  which  was  distinctly  the  face  of  a 

5 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

man  who  has  not  made  a  good  thing  of  life,  and  who 
can  never  for  a  moment  lose  sight  of  that  fact.  There 
were  lines  above  the  eyes,  clear,  blue,  and  somewhat 
sunken  eyes,  which  denoted  the  habit  of  the  brows  to 
contract  on  very  slight  provocation,  and  far  oftener 
than  was  good  for  their  owner's  peace  of  mind,  and  the 
bronze  underlying  the  clear  skin  told  of  a  former  life 
in  the  open — possibly  under  a  warmer  sun  than  that 
now  playing  upon  it.  As  to  its  features,  it  was  a 
strong  face,  but  there  was  a  certain  indefinable  some- 
thing about  it  when  off  its  guard,  which  would  have 
told  a  close  physiognomist  of  the  possession  of  latent 
instincts,  unknown  to  their  possessor,  instincts  which, 
if  stifled,  choked,  were  not  dead,  and  which,  if  ever 
their  depths  were  stirred,  would  yield  forth  strange 
and  dangerous  possibilities. 

He  was  of  fine  constitution,  active  and  wiry;  but 
the  cramped  life  and  squalid  worry  of  a  year-in  year- 
out,  semi-detached,  suburban  existence  had,  as  he  told 
himself,  played  the  mischief  with  his  nerves,  and  now 
to  this  was  added  the  ghastly  vista  of  impending  actual 
beggary.  Whatever  he  did  and  wherever  he  went 
this  thought  would  not  be  quenched.  It  was  ever  with 
him,  gnawing  like  an  aching  tooth.  Lying  awake  at 
night  it  would  glare  at  him  with  spectral  eyes  in  the 
darkness;  then,  unless  he  could  force  himself  by  all 
manner  of  strange  and  artificial  means,  such  as  repeat- 
ing favourite  verse,  and  so  forth,  to  throw  it  off,  good- 
bye to  sleep — result,  nerves  yet  further  shaken,  a 
succession  of  brooding  days,  and  system  thrown  off 
its  balance  by  domestic  friction  and  strife.  Many  a 
man  has  sought  a  remedy  for  far  less  ill  in  the  bottle, 

6 


"SWEET   HOME!" 

whether  of  grog  or  laudanum;  but  this  one's  character 
was  in  its  strength  proof  against  the  first,  while  for  the 
latter,  that  might  come,  but  only  as  a  very  last  ex- 
tremity. Meanwhile  ofttimes  he  wondered  how  that 
blank,  hopeless  feeling  of  having  completely  done  with 
life  could  be  his,  seeing  that  he  was  still  in  his  prime. 
Formerly  eager,  sanguine,  warm-hearted,  glowing 
with  good  impulses;  now  indifferent,  sceptical,  with  a 
heart  of  stone  and  the  chronic  sneer  of  a  cynic. 

He  was  one  of  those  men  who  seem  born  never  to 
succeed.  With  everything  in  his  favour  apparently, 
Laurence  Stanninghame  never  did  succeed.  Every- 
thing he  touched  seemed  to  go  wrong.  If  he 
speculated,  whether  it  was  a  half-crown  bet  or  a 
thousand-pound  investment,  smash  went  the  concern. 
He  was  of  an  inventive  turn  and  had  patented — of 
course  at  considerable  expenditure — a  thing  or  two; 
but  by  some  crafty  twist  of  the  law's  subtle  rascalities, 
others  had  managed  to  reap  the  benefit.  He  had  tried 
his  hand  at  writing,  but  press  and  publisher  alike  shied 
at  him.  He  was  too  bitter,  too  bold,  too  sweeping, 
too  thorough.  So  he  threw  that,  as  he  had  thrown 
other  things,  in  sheer  disgust  and  hopelessness. 

Now  he  was  going  to  cast  in  the  net  for  a  final  effort, 
and  already  his  spirits  began  to  revive  at  the  thought. 
Any  faint  spark  of  lingering  sentiment,  if  any  there 
were,  was  quenched  in  the  thought  that  the  turn  of  the 
wheel  might  bring  good  luck,  but  it  was  impossible  it 
could  strand  him  in  worse  case.  For  the  sentimental 
side  of  it — separation,  long  absence — well,  the  droop 
of  the  cynical  corners  of  the  mouth  became  more 
emphasized  at  the  recollection  of  that  faded  old  fig- 

7 


THE  SIGN  OF  THE  SPIDER. 

ment,  "  home,  sweet  home,"  and  glowing  aspirations 
after  the  so-called  holy  and  pure  joys  of  the  family 
circle;  whereas  the  reality,  a  sort  of  Punch  and  Judy 
show  at  best.  No,  there  was  no  sentimental  side  to 
this  undertaking. 

Yet  Laurence  Stanninghame's  partner  in  life  was 
by  no  means  a  bad  sort  of  a  woman.  She  had  plenty 
of  redeeming  qualities,  in  that  she  was  good-hearted 
at  bottom  and  well-meaning,  and  withal  a  most  de- 
voted mother.  But  she  had  a  tongue  and  a  temper, 
together  with  an  exceedingly  injudicious,  not  to  say 
foolish  twist  of  mind;  and  this  combination,  other 
good  points  notwithstanding,  the  quality  which  should 
avail  to  redeem  has  hitherto  remained  undiscoverable 
in  any  live  human  being.  Furthermore,  she  owned  a 
will.  When  two  wills  come  into  contact  the  weakest 
goes  under,  and  that  soon.  Then  there  may  be  peace. 
In  this  case  neither  went  under,  because,  presumably, 
evenly  balanced.  Result — warfare,  incessant,  chronic. 

Having  finished  his  pipe,  Laurence  Stanninghame 
got  out  a  hat  and  an  umbrella,  and  set  to  work  to 
brush  the  former  and  furl  the  latter  prior  to  going  out. 
The  hat  was  not  of  that  uniform  and  glossy  smooth- 
ness which  one  could  see  into  to  shave,  and  the 
umbrella  was  weather-beaten  of  aspect.  The  morning 
coat,  though  well  cut,  was  shiny  at  the  seams.  Yet, 
in  spite  of  the  wear  and  tear  of  his  outer  gear,  with  so 
unmistakably  thoroughbred  a  look  was  their  wearer 
stamped  that  it  seemed  he  might  have  worn  anything. 
Many  a  man  would  have  looked  and  felt  shabby  in  this 
long  service  get-up ;  this  one  never  gave  it  a  thought, 

8 


"SWEET   HOME!" 

.or,  if  he  did,  it  was  only  to  wonder  whether  he  should 
ever  again,  after  this  time,  put  on  that  venerable 
"  stove-pipe,"  and  if  so,  what  sort  of  experiences 
would  have  been  his  in  the  interim. 
,  Now  there  was  a  patter  of  feet  in  the  passage,  the 
door-handle  turned  softly,  and  a  little  girl  came  in. 
She  was  a  sweetly-pretty  child,  with  that  rare  combi- 
nation of  dark-lashed  brown  eyes  and  golden  hair. 
Here,  if  anywhere,  was  Laurence  Stanninghame's  soft 
place.  His  other  progeny  was  represented  by  two 
sturdy  boys,  combative  of  instinct  and  firm  of  tread, 
and  whose  gambols,  whether  pacific  or  bellicose,  were 
apt  to  shake  the  rattletrap  old  semi-detached  and  the 
parental  nerves  in  about  equal  proportions;  constitut- 
ing, furthermore,  a  standing  bone  of  parental  conten- 
tion. This  little  one,  however,  having  turned  ten,  was 
of  a  companionable  age;  and  to  the  male  understand- 
ing the  baby  stage  does  not,  as  a  rule,  commend  itself. 

She  was  full  of  the  racket  which  had  just  taken 
place  overhead;  but  to  this  Laurence  hardly  listened. 
There  was  always  a  racket  overhead,  a  fight  or  a  fall 
or  a  bumping.  One  more  or  less  hardly  mattered. 
He  was  thinking  of  his  own  weakness.  Would  she 
feel  parting  with  him?  Children  as  a  rule  were  easily 
consoled.  A  new  and  gaudy  toy  would  make  them 
forget  anything.  And  appositely  to  this  thought,  the 
little  one's  mind  was  also  full  of  a  marvellous  engine 
she  had  seen  the  last  time  she  had  been  taken  into 
London — one  which  wound  up  with  a  key  and  ran  a 
great  distance  without  stopping. 

Being  alone — for  by  this  time  he  had  come  to  regard 
9 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

all  display  of  affection  before  others  as  a  weakness- 
Laurence  drew  the  child  to  him  and  kissed  her 
tenderly. 

"  And  supposing  that  engine  were  some  day  to  come 
puffing  in,  Fay;  to-morrow  or  the  day  after?  "  he  said. 

The  little  one's  eyes  danced.  The  toy  was  an  ex- 
pensive one,  quite  out  of  reach  for  her,  she  knew.  If 
only  it  were  not!  And  now  her  delighted  look  and 
her  reply  made  him  smile  with  a  strange  mixture  of 
sadness  and  cynicism.  And  as  approaching  footsteps 
heralded  further  invasion,  he  put  the  child  from  him 
hurriedly,  and  went  out.  Hailing  a  tram  car,  he  made 
his  way  up  to  town  to  carry  out  the  remainder  of  his 
sudden,  though  not  very  extensive,  preparations. 

Now  on  the  following  evening  arrived  a  package  of 
toys,  of  a  splendour  hitherto  unparalleled  within  that 
dingy  suburban  semi-detached,  and  there  was  a  great 
banging  of  gorgeous  drums  and  a  tootling  of  glitter- 
ing trumpets,  and  little  Fay  was  round-eyed  with 
delight  in  the  acquisition  of  the  wondrous  locomotive, 
ultimately  declining  to  go  to  sleep  save  with  one  tiny 
fist  shut  tight  round  the  chimney  thereof.  That  would 
counteract  any  passing  effect  that  might  be  inspired 
by  a  vacant  chair,  thought  Laurence  Stanninghame, 
amid  the  roar  of  the  mail  train  speeding  through  the 
raw  haze  of  the  early  morning.  Sentiment?  feelings? 
What  had  he  to  do  with  such?  They  were  luxuries, 
and  as  such  only  for  those  who  could  afford  to  indulge 
in  them.  He  could  not. 


JO 


CHAPTER  II. 

ADAM'S  FIRST  WIFE. 

THE  R.  M.  S.  Persian  was  cleaving  her  southward 
way  through  the  smooth  translucence  of  the  tropical 
sea. 

It  was  the  middle  of  the  morning.  Her  passengers, 
scattered  around  her  quarter-deck  in  the  coolness  of 
the  sheltering  awning,  were  amusing  themselves  after 
their  kind;  some  gregarious  and  chatting  in  groups, 
others  singly,  or  in  pairs,  reading.  The  men  were 
mostly  in  flannels  and  blazers,  and  deck-shoes;  the 
women  affected  light  array  of  a  cool  nature;  and  all 
looked  as  though  it  were  too  much  trouble  to  move 
or  even  to  speak,  though  here  and  there  an  individual 
more  enterprising  than  his  or  her  fellows  would  make 
a  spasmodic  attempt  at  a  constitutional,  said  attempt 
usually  resolving  itself  into  five  and  a  half  feeble  turns, 
up  and  down  the  clear  part  of  the  deck,  to  culminate 
in  abrupt  collapse;  for  it  is  warm  in  the  tropical  seas. 

"What  a  lazy  Johnnie  you  are,  Stanninghame ! 
Now,  what  the  deuce  are  you  thinking  about  all  this 
time,  I  wonder?  " 

He  addressed,  who  had  been  gazing  out  upon  the 
sea  and  sky-line,  plunged  in  dreamy  thought,  did  not 
even  turn  his  head. 

"  Get  into  this  chair,  Holmes,  if  you  want  to  talk," 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

he  said.  "  A  fellow  can't  wring  his  own  neck  and 
emit  articulate  sound  at  the  same  time.  What?  " 

The  other,  who  had  come  up  behind,  laughed,  and 
dropped  into  the  empty  deck-chair  beside  Laurence. 
He  was  the  latter's  cabin  chum,  and  the  two  had 
become  rather  friendly. 

"  Nothing  to  do  and  plenty  of  time  to  do  it  in,"  he 
went  on,  stretching  himself  and  yawning.  "  I'm  jolly 
sick  of  this  voyage  already." 

"  And  we're  scarcely  half  through  with  it?  It's  a 
fact,  Holmes,  but  I'm  not  sick  of  it  a  bit." 

"Eh?"  and  the  other  stared.  "That's  odd,  Stan- 
ninghame.  You,  I  should  have  thought,  if  anyone, 
would  be  just  dog-gone  tired  of  it  by  now.  Why,  you 
never  even  cut  into  any  of  the  fun  that's  going — such 
as  it  is." 

"  You  may  well  put  that  in,  Holmes.  As,  for  in- 
stance— listen ! " 

For  the  whanging  of  the  piano  in  the  saloon  beneath 
had  attained  to  an  even  greater  pitch  of  discord  than 
was  normally  the  case.  To  it  was  added  the  excru- 
ciating rasp  of  a  fiddle. 

"Heavens!  Are  they  immolating  a  stowaway  cat 
down  there?  "  murmured  Laurence,  with  a  little  shud- 
der. "  It  would  have  been  more  humane  to  have  put 
the  misguided  brute  to  a  painless  end." 

Holmes  spluttered. 

"  It  reminds  me,"  he  said,  "  of  one  voyage  I  made 
by  this  line.  Some  of  the  passengers  got  up  what  they 
called  an  '  Amusement  Committee.' " 

"A  fearful  and  wonderful  monster!  " 

"  Just  so.     It's  mission  was  to  worry  the  soul  out  of 

12 


ADAM'S   FIRST   WIFE. 

each  and  all  of  us,  in  search  of  some  nefarious  gift. 
Oh,  and  we  mustered  plenty,  from  the  'cello  to  the 
'  bones.'  Well,  what  is  going  on  down  there  now  is 
sheer  delight  in  comparison.  Imagine  the  present 
performance  heaped  up — only  relieved  by  caterwauls 
of  about  equal  quality — and  that  from  6  A.  M.  until 
'  lights  out.'  " 

"I  don't  want  to  imagine  it,  thank  you,  Holmes; 
so  spare  what  little  of  that  faculty  I  still  retain.  But, 
say  now,  when  was  this  eventful  voyage?  " 

"  In  the  summer  of  '84." 

"  Precisely.  I  remember  now.  It  was  in  the  news- 
papers at  the  time  that  in  more  than  one  ship's  log 
were  entered  strange  reports  of  gruesome  and  wholly 
indefinable  noises  heard  at  night  in  certain  latitudes. 
Some  of  the  crews  mutinied,  and  there  was  an  instance 
on  record  of  more  than  one  hand,  bursting  with  super- 
stition, going  mad  and  jumping  overboard.  So,  you 
see,  Holmes,  your  '  Amusement  Committee '  doubly 
deserved  hanging." 

The  delicious  readiness  of  this  "  lie "  so  fetched 
Holmes  that  he  opened  his  head  and  emitted  a  howl 
of  laughter.  He  made  such  a  row,  in  fact,  that  neither 
of  them  heard  the  convulsively  half-repressed  splutter 
which  burst  forth  somewhere  behind  them. 

"  Well,  you  were  going  to  explain  how  it  is  you 
haven't  got  sick  of  the  voyage  yet,"  said  Holmes, 
when  his  roar  had  subsided. 

"  Was  I  ?  I  didn't  say  so.  What  a  chap  you  are 
for  returning  to  worry  a  point,  Holmes.  However,  I 
don't  mind  telling  you.  The  fact  is,  I  enjoy  this 
voyage  because  it  is  so  thoroughly  and  delightfully 

13 


THE   SIGN  OF  THE   SPIDER. 

restful.  You  are  not  only  allowed  to  do  nothing,  but 
are  actually  expected  to  perform  that  easy  and  con- 
genial feat.  There  is  nothing  to  worry  you — abso- 
lutely nothing — not  even  a  baby  in  the  next  cabin." 

"  I  don't  mind  a  little  worry  now  and  then,"  objected 
the  other,  in  the  tone  and  with  the  look  of  one  who 
was  ignorant  of  the  real  meaning  of  the  word.  "  It 
shakes  one  up  a  bit,  don't  you  know — relieves  the 
monotony  of  life." 

"  Oh,  does  it?  Look  here,  Holmes;  I  don't  say  it 
in  an  '  assert-my-superiority '  sense,  but  I  believe  I'm 
a  little  older  than  you.  Now,  I've  had  a  trifle  too 
much  of  the  commodity  under  discussion.  In  fact,  I 
would  take  my  chances  of  the  monotony  in  order  to 
dispense  with  any  more  of  the  other  thing." 

Holmes  cast  a  furtive  and  curious  glance  at  his 
companion,  but  made  no  immediate  reply.  He  was  an 
average,  good-looking,  well-built  specimen  of  Young 
England,  and  his  healthy  sun-burnt  countenance 
showed,  in  its  cheery  serenity,  that,  as  the  other  had 
hinted,  he  was  not  speaking  from  knowledge.  At 
any  rate,  it  was  a  marked  contrast  to  the  rather  lined 
and  prematurely  careworn  countenance  of  Laurence 
Stanninghame,  even  as  his  frank,  jolly  laugh  was  to 
the  half-stifled  grin  which  would  lurk  around  the 
satirical  corners  of  the  latter's  mouth  when  anything 
amused  him. 

"  What  a  row  those  women  are  making  over  there!  " 
remarked  Laurence,  as  peal  after  peal  of  feminine 
laughter  went  up  from  one  of  the  groups  above 
referred  to. 

"  That  ass  Swaynston,  I  suppose,"  growled  the 
14 


ADAM'S  FIRST  WIFE. 

other.  "  Don't  know  what  anybody  can  see  funny 
about  the  fellow;  he  makes  me  sick.  By  the  way,  I 
haven't  seen  Miss  Ormskirk  on  deck  this  morning." 

u  That  '11  make  Swaynston  sick,  won't  it?  Isn't  he 
one  of  her  poodles?  " 

"Eh?     Her  what?" 

"  Fetch  and  carry ;  stand  up  on  his  hind  legs  and 
beg.  There — good  dog!  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
you  know;  go  to  heel,  too,  when  ordered." 

Holmes  laughed  again,  this  time  in  rather  a  shame- 
faced way,  for  he  was  conscious  of  having  filled  the 
role  whose  subserviency  was  thus  pungently  charac- 
terized by  his  cynical  companion. 

"  Oh,  dash  it  all,  Stanninghame,  don't  be  such  an 
old  bear!  "  he  burst  forth.  "  A  fellow  can't  help  doing 
things  for  a  devilish  pretty  girl,  eh?  " 

"  A  good  many  fellows  can't,  apparently,  for  this 
one.  Directly  she  appears  on  the  scene  they  go  at 
her  like  flies  at  a  honey  pot.  There's  the  doctor,  and 
the  fourth  brass-button  man — er,  I  beg  his  pardon, 
the  fourth  '  officer,' — and  Swaynston,  and  yourself, 
and  Heaven  knows  how  many  more.  And  one  gets 
hold  of  a  cushion — which  she  doesn't  want ;  another  a 
wrap — of  which  the  same  holds  good;  two  of  you 
strive  to  rend  a  deck-chair  limb  from  limb  in  your 
eagerness  to  dump  it  down  on  the  very  last  spot  in 
the  ship  where  she  desires  to  sit,  what  time  you  are 
all  scowling  at  each  other  as  though  there  was  not 
room  for  any  given  two  of  you  in  the  same  world.  I 
don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings,  Holmes,  but,  upon 

my  word,  it's  the  most  d ridiculous  spectacle  on 

earth," 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

"  I  don't  see  why  it  should  be,"  was  the  half-snuffy 
rejoinder.  "  There's  nothing  ridiculous  in  common 
civility." 

"  No,  only  to  see  you  all  treading  on  each  other's 
heels  to  do  konza  to  a  woman  who's  nearly  losing  her 
life  trying  not  to  laugh  at  the  crowd  of  you." 

"  Hallo!  what's  this?  "  sung  out  Holmes,  not  sorry 
for  an  excuse  to  change  the  subject.  "  Why,  you 
used  a  Zulu  word,  Stanninghame,  and  yet  you  say 
you  never  were  in  South  Africa  before." 

"  Well,  and  then?  I've  once  or  twice  known  fellows 
use  a  Greek  word  who  had  never  been  near  the  land 
of  Socrates  in  their  lives." 

"  Still,  that's  different.  Every  fellow  learns  Greek 
at  school,  but  no  fellow  learns  Zulu,  eh?  " 

"  You  can't  swear  to  that.  Well,  never  mind.  Per- 
haps I  have  been  mugging  it  up  as  a  preliminary  to 
coming  out  here.  Note,  however,  Holmes,  that  I 
used  the  word  advisedly.  Konza  does  not  mean  to 
show  civility,  but  to  do  homage,  and  that  of  a  tolerably 
abject  kind — in  fact,  to  knuckle  under." 

"  All  the  same,  I  believe  you  have  been  out  here 
before,"  went  on  Holmes,  staring  at  him  with  a  new 
interest.  "  Only  you're  such  a  mysterious  chap  that 
you  won't  let  on." 

"  Have  it  so,  if  you  will.  Only,  aren't  you  rather 
drawing  a  red  herring  across  the  trail,  Holmes?  We 
were  talking  about  Miss  Ormskirk." 

"  Urn — yes,  so  we  were.  But,  have  you  talked  to 
her  at  all,  Stanninghame?  I  believe  even  you  would 
be  fetched  if  you  did." 

"  H'm — well,  I'd  better  leave  it  alone  then,  hadn't 
16 


ADAM'S  FIRST  WIFE. 

I,  seeing  that  I  undertook  this  voyage  not  for  love, 
but  for  money?  What's  her  name,  by  the  way?" 

Holmes  stared.  "  Her  name,"  he  began "  Oh 

— er — I  see;  her  other  name?  By  Jove!  it's  an  odd 
one.  Lilith." 

"An  old  one  too;  the  oldest  she-name  on  record, 
bar  none." 

"  What?    How  does  that  come  in?  " 

"Tradition  hath  it  that  Lilith  was  Adam's  first 
wife.  That  makes  it  the  oldest  she-name  on  record, 
doesn't  it?  " 

"  Of  course.  What  a  rum  chap  you  are,  Stanning- 
hame !  Now,  I  wonder  how  many  fellows  could  have 
told  one  that?  " 

"  Well,  I  am  a  '  know-a-little-of-everything,'  they 
tell  me,"  said  Laurence,  without  a  shade  of  self- 
complacency.  "  But,  I  say,  what  do  these  two 
want  bothering  around?  Not  another  subscription 
already?  " 

Two  individuals,  armed  with  mysterious  pencil  and 
paper,  were  moving  from  group  to  group,  with  a  word 
to  each.  The  hawk-like  profile  of  the  one  bespoke 
his  nationality  if  not  his  tribe,  even  as  the  pug-nosed, 
squab-faced  figure-head  of  the  other  spoke  to  his. 

"  It's  the  '  sweep/ "  said  Holmes,  with  kindling 
interest.  "They're  going  to  draw  it  in  the  smoke- 
room.  Come  along  and  see  it.  It  '11  be  something 
to  do." 

"  But  I  don't  want  something  to  do.  I  want  to  do 

nothing,  as  I  told  you  just  now,  and Hallo!  By 

George,  he's  gone!" 

One  glance  at  the  retreating  Holmes,  who  was 
17 


THE  SIGN   OF  THE  SPIDER. 

making  all  sail  for  the  smoke-room,  and  Laurence 
tranquilly  resumed  his  former  occupation — gazing 
out  over  the  blue-green  surface,  to  wit.  Not  long, 
however,  was  he  to  be  left  to  the  enjoyment  of  the 
same. 

"  Can  I  have  this  chair?    Is  it  anybody's?  " 

He  turned,  but  did  not  start  at  the  voice,  which 
was  soft  and  well  modulated.  The  two  deck-chairs 
had  been  backed  against  the  companion,  in  whose 
doorway  now  stood  framed  the  form  of  the  speaker. 

Rather  tall,  of  exquisite  proportions,  billowing  in 
splendid  curves  from  the  perfectly  round  waist,  the 
form  was  about  as  complete  an  example  of  female 
anatomy  as  humanity  could  show  of  whatever  race  or 
clime.  The  head,  well  set,  was  carried  rather  proudly, 
the  cut  of  the  cool,  light  blouse  displaying  a  pillar- 
like  throat.  Hazel  eyes,  melting,  dark  fringed ;  brows 
strongly  marked,  enough  to  show  plenty  of  character, 
without  being  heavy;  hair  abundant,  curled  in  a 
fringe  upon  the  forehead,  and  drawn  back  from  the 
head  in  sheeny,  dark  brown  waves.  Such  was  the 
vision  which  Laurence  Stanninghame  beheld,  as  he 
turned  at  the  sound  of  the  voice.  Well,  what  then? 
He  had  seen  it  before. 

"  It  isn't  anybody's  chair,"  he  replied,  rising. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  she  said,  stepping  forth.  "  No, 
don't  trouble;  I  can  carry  it  myself,"  she  added. 

"  Where  do  you  want  it  taken  to?  "  he  said,  ignor- 
ing her  protest,  and  thinking,  with  grim  amusement, 
how  he  was  about  to  fulfil  the  very  role  he  had  been 
satirizing  his  younger  friend  about,  namely,  fetch  and 
carry  for  the  spoilt  beauty  of  the  quarter-deck. 

18 


ADAM'S  FIRST  WIFE. 

"Oh,  thanks;  anywhere  that's  cool." 

"Then  you  can't  do  better  than  leave  it  where  it 
is,"  he  rejoined,  with  a  quiet  smile,  setting  down  the 
chair  again  and  resuming  his  own. 

Lilith  Ormskirk  smiled  too,  but  she  made  no  objec- 
tion, sliding  comfortably  into  the  chair,  and  gazing 
meditatively  at  the  point  of  the  neat  and  shapely  deck- 
shoe  just  peeping  forth  from  beneath  her  skirt. 

"What  are  they  doing  over  there?"  she  began; 
"  drawing  the  '  sweep,'  are  they  not?  How  is  it  you 
are  not  there  too,  Mr.  Stanninghame?  Even  those 
of  the  men  who  won't  help  us  in  getting  up  any  fun 
are  always  ready  enough  for  anything  of  that  kind. 
Well,  I  suppose  it  gives  them  something  to  do." 

Something  to  do!  that  eternal  "  something  to  do!  " 

"  But  that's  just  what  I  don't  want — not  on  board 
this  ship,  at  any  rate,"  he  retorted.  "  It's  a  grand 
opportunity  for  lazing,  an  opportunity  that  can't  occur 
often  in  life,  and  I  want  to  make  the  most  of  it." 

She  glanced  furtively  at  his  face.  It  was  a  face  that 
interested  her,  had  done  so  since  she  first  beheld  it. 
A  very  out-of-the-common  face,  she  had  decided ;  and 
the  careless  reserve,  the  very  indifference  of  its  owner's 
habit  of  speech,  had  powerfully  added  to  her  interest. 
They  had  met  before,  had  exchanged  a  few  words  now 
and  again,  but  had  never  conversed. 

"  A  thing  that  is  a  standing  puzzle  to  me,"  he  went 
on — "  would  be,  rather,  if  I  knew  a  little  less  of  human 
nature — is  the  alacrity  with  which  people  waste  their 
precious  time  in  order  to  make  a  few  shillings.  It 
isn't  a  craving  after  profit  either,  for  there  can't  be 
much  profit  about  it.  Yet  Myers  there,  the  Hebraic 


THE  SIGN  OF  THE  SPIDER. 

instinct  ever  to  the  fore,  must  needs  throw  away  the 
splendid  recuperative  opportunities  afforded  by  a  sea 
voyage,  must  needs  spend  the  whole  of  each  and  every 
morning  getting  up  that  miserable  '  sweep/  It  must 
be  the  sheer  Hebraic  instinct  of  delighting  to  handle 
coin — the  ecstasy  of  contact  with  it  even." 

"And  the  other — the  one  who  helps  him?  He's 
not  Hebraic?" 

"  No,  he's  English.  Therefore  he  must  be  forever 
'  getting  up '  something.  We  pride  ourselves  upon 
our  solid  deliberation,  yet  we  are  about  the  fussiest 
and  most  interfering  race  on  the  face  of  the  globe." 

"Then  you  don't  have  anything  to  do  with  the 
popular  midday  delight?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  hand  them  my  shilling  every  morning 
when  they  come  round,  and  pouch  tranquilly  later  on 
what  they  see  fit  to  restore  to  me  as  the  result  of  that 
modest  investment." 

She  laughed,  and  as  she  did  so  Laurence  looked  her 
full  in  the  face.  He  wanted  to  find  out  again  what 
there  could  be  in  this  girl  that  reduced  everybody  to 
subjection  so  utter  and  complete.  Was  it  in  the  swift 
flash  of  the  fringed  eyes,  in  the  sensuous  attractiveness 
of  a  certain  swarthy,  golden,  mantling  shade  of  colour 
which  harmonized  so  well  with  the  bright  clearness 
of  the  eyes,  with  the  smooth  serenity  of  the  brow?  He 
could  not  determine;  yet  in  that  brief  fraction  of  a 
moment,  as  he  looked,  he  was  uneasily  conscious  of 
a  certain  magnetic  thrill  communicating  itself  even 
to  him. 

"  You  are  stronger-minded  than  I  am,"  she  said. 
"  I'm  afraid  I  bet  shockingly  at  times." 

20 


ADAM'S   FIRST  WIFE. 

"  Well,  whenever  I  do  I  invariably  lose,  which  is  a 
first  rate  curative  to  any  temptation  towards  that 
especial  form  of  dissipation." 

"  Look  now,  Mr.  Stanninghame,  I'm  going  to  take 
you  to  task,"  she  went  on.  "  Why  won't  you  ever 
help  us  in  getting  up  anything?  " 

"  But  I  do  help  you." 

"  You  do?  Why,  there  was  that  concert  the  other 
night — you  refused  when  you  were  asked  to  take  part 
in  it." 

"  But  I  did  take  part  in  it — as  audience.  You  must 
have  an  audience,  you  know.  It's  essential  to  the 
performance." 

"  Don't  be  provoking,  now,"  she  said,  with  a  laugh 
which  belied  the  rebuke,  for  this  sort  of  fencing  de- 
lighted her.  "  You  never  take  part  in  our  dances." 

"  Dances?  Did  you  ever  happen  to  notice  the  top 
of  my  head?" 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  she  replied,  with  a  splutter  of 
mirth,  wondering  what  whimsicality  was  coming  next. 
"Why?" 

"  Only  that  its  covering  is  getting  rather  thin,  as  no 
self-respecting  haircutter  ever  loses  the  opportunity  of 
reminding  me." 

"  That's  nothing.  Look  at  Mr.  Dyson,  for  in- 
stance. Now  he  might  say  that.  Yet  he  is  a  most 
indefatigable  dancer." 

"  Yes,  and  that  ostrich-egg  of  his  bobbing  up  and 
down  above  the  gay  and  giddy  rout  is  one  of  the  most 
ridiculous  sights  on  earth.  Are  you  urging  me  to 
furnish  a  similar  absurdity?  " 

"  But  you  might  do  something  to  help  amuse  us. 
In  fact,  it  is  only  your  duty." 

21 


THE   SIGN  OF  THE  SPIDER. 

"  Hallo !  Excuse  me,  Miss  Ormskirk,  but  that's 
exactly  what  that  fellow  Mac — Mac — something — I 
never  can  remember  his  name — the  doctor,  you  know 
— was  trying  to  drive  into  me  the  other  night.  I  told 
him  I  didn't  come  on  board  this  ship  for  the  purpose 
of  amusing  my  fellow-creatures — not  any — but  with 
the  object  of  being  transported  to  Cape  Town  with 
all  possible  despatch." 

"  Then  you  leave  the  ship  at  Cape  Town?  Are 
you,  too,  going  on  to  Johannesburg?" 

"  Not  being  dead,  yes." 

"  Not  being  dead?  Why,  what  in  the  world  do  you 
mean?" 

"  Oh,  only  that  Holmes  was  asking  after  all  his  old 
friends  one  night  in  the  smoke-room,  and  all  who 
were  not  dead  had  gone  to  Johannesburg.  Others 
I've  heard  talking  the  same  way.  So  I've  got  into 
the  habit  of  thinking  there  are  but  two  states — death 
and  Johannesburg." 

"  Tell  me,  Mr.  Stanninghame,"  said  Lilith,  strug- 
gling with  a  laugh,  "are  you  ever  by  any  chance 
serious?  " 

"Oh,  yes;  I'm  never  anything  else." 

She  hardly  felt  inclined  to  laugh  now.  There  was 
a  subtle  something  in  the  tone — a  something  under- 
lying the  whimsicality  of  the  words,  that  seemed  to 
quell  her  rising  mirth.  Again  she  glanced  at  his  face, 
and  felt  her  interest  deepen  tenfold. 

"We  may  meet  again  then,"  she  said,  her  tone 
unconsciously  softening;  "  I  am  going  to  Johannes- 
burg soon." 

Meet  again?    Why,  they  had  only  just  met;  and 

22 


ADAM'S  FIRST  WIFE. 

what  was  it  to  him?  Yet  still  more  was  he  conscious 
of  a  thrill  as  of  latent  witchery  thrown  over  him,  as 
he  lounged  there  in  the  warm  luxuriousness  of  the 
tropical  noontide,  with  which  this  beautiful  creature 
at  his  side,  in  her  careless^attitude,  all  symmetry  and 
grace,  seemed  so  wholly  in  keeping. 

"  What  a  strange  name  that  is  of  yours,"  he  said,  in 
the  abrupt,  unthought-out  way  which  was  so  charac- 
teristic of  him. 

She  started  slightly  at  its  very  abruptness,  then 
smiled. 

"Is  it?"  she  said;  "well,  your  own  is  not  a  very 
common  one." 

"  No,  it  isn't;  which  is  a  bore  at  times,  because 
people  will  persist  in  spelling  it  wrong.  It  might 
have  been  worse,  though.  They  went  in  for  giving 
us  all  more  or  less  cloth-of-gold  sort  of  names,  though 
mine  smacks  rather  of  the  cloister  than  of  the  lists. 
One  of  my  brothers  they  dubbed  Aylmer.  He  was 
in  a  regiment,  and  the  mess  would  persist  in  calling 
him  Jack,  for  short.  He  resented  it  at  first — after- 
wards came  to  prefer  it.  Said  it  was  more  con- 
venient. Well,  it  was." 

"  Mine  is  older  than  that.  The  very  oldest  femi- 
nine name  on  record,"  she  said,  with  just  a  spice  of 
quiet  mischief.  "  Lilith  was  Adam's  first  wife." 

If  she  thought  the  other  was  going  to  look  foolish 
at  hearing  his  own  words  thus  reproduced  in  such 
literal  fashion,  she  never  made  a  greater  mistake  in 
her  life. 

"  So  tradition  hath  it,"  he  rejoined,  with  perfect  un- 
concern. "  It's  a  queer  out-of-the-way  sort  of  name 

23 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

— I'm  not  sure  I  don't  rather  like  it.  There's  a  creep- 
ing suggestion  of  witchery  about  it,  too,  which  is  on 
the  whole  attractive." 

He  was  looking  at  her  straight  in  the  eyes,  for  they 
had  both  risen,  the  luncheon-bell  having  rung.  She 
unflinchingly  returned  the  glance,  which  on  both 
sides  was  that  of  two  adversaries  mentally  appraising 
each  other  prior  to  a  rapier-bout. 

"  Then  beware  such  unholy  spells,"  she  replied, 
with  a  light  but  enigmatical  laugh.  And  turning,  she 
left  him. 

Now  Holmes,  who,  bursting  with  astonishment  and 
trepidation  as  he  beheld  how  his  friend  was  en- 
gaged, came  bustling  up,  with  a  scared  and  furtive 
demeanour. 

"  By  the  Lord,  old  man,  we  just  have  put  our  foot 
in  it,"  he  sputtered.  "  All  the  time  we  were  sitting 
here,  Miss  Ormskirk  was  just  inside  the  companion. 
She  must  have  heard  every  word  we  said." 

"  Don't  care  a  hang  if  she  did." 

"  Man  alive,  but  we  were  talking  about  her!  About 
her,  and  she  heard  it!  Don't  you  understand?" 

"Perfectly;  still  I  don't  care  a  hang.  A  hang? 
No,  nor  the  rope,  nor  the  drop,  nor  the  whole  jolly 
gallows  do  I  care.  Will  that  do?" 

Holmes  gasped.  This  fellow  Stanninghame  was  a 
lunatic.  Mad,  by  Jove!  Still  gasping  as  he  thought 
of  the  enormity  of  the  situation,  he  left  without 
another  word,  diving  below  to  try  and  drown  his  con- 
fusion in  a  whisky  and  soda,  iced. 

But  the  other,  still  lingering  on  the  now  deserted 
deck,  was  conscious  of  a  very  unwonted  sensation. 

24 


ADAM'S   FIRST   WIFE. 

The  spell  which  he  had  derided  so  bitterly  when  be- 
holding others  drawn  within  its  toils  had  begun  to 
weave  itself  around  him.  This  vague  stirring  of  his 
mental  pulses,  what  did  it  mean?  Heavens!  it  was 
horrible.  It  brought  back  old  memories,  whose  tin- 
pot  unreality  was  never  recalled  save  as  subject  matter 
for  bitter  gibe  and  mockery.  He  could  not  have 
believed  it  possible. 

"  It's  the  nerves,"  he  told  himself.  "  These  years 
of  squalid  worry  have  done  it.  My  nerves  are  shaken 
to  bits.  Well,  I  must  pull  them  together  again.  But 
oh,  the  bosh  of  it!  the  utter  bosh  of  it! " 


CHAPTER  III. 
"BEWARE  SUCH  UNHOLY  SPELLS!" 

THE  sway  of  Lilith  Ormskirk  over  the  saloon  and 
quarter-deck  of  the  Persian  was  as  complete  as  any 
woman's  sway  ever  is.  From  the  grizzled  captain — 
nominally  under  whose  charge  she  was  making  the 
voyage — down  to  the  newly  emancipated  schoolboy 
going  out  to  seek  employment,  the  male  element  was, 
with  scarcely  an  exception,  her  collective  slave. 
Among  the  women,  of  course,  her  rule  was  less  com- 
plete; those  who  were  furthest  from  all  possibility  of 
rivalling  her  in  attractiveness  of  person  or  charm  of 
manner  being,  of  course,  the  mose  virulent  in  their 
jealousy  and  the  expression  thereof.  Lilith,  however, 
cared  nothing  for  this,  or,  if  she  did,  gave  no  sign. 
She  was  never  bitter,  even  towards  those  whom  she 
knew  to  be  among  her  worst  detractors,  never  spite- 
ful. She  was  not  faultless,  not  by  any  means,  but  her 
failings  did  not  lie  in  the  direction  of  littleness.  But 
she  always  seemed  bright  and  happy,  and  full  of  life 
— too  much  so,  thought  more  than  one  of  her  per- 
fervid  adorers,  who  would  fain  have  monopolized  her. 

She  was  in  the  mid-twenties — that  age  when  the 
egotism  and  rather  narrow  enthusiasms  and  preju- 
dices of  the  girl  shade  off  into  the  graciousness  and 
savoir-vivre  of  womanhood.  She  could  look  back 
on  more  than  one  foolishness,  from  whose  results 

26 


"BEWARE  SUCH  UNHOLY  SPELLS!" 

she  had  providentially  escaped,  with  an  uneasy  shud- 
der, followed  by  a  heartfelt  thankfulness,  and  a  sense 
of  having  not  only  learnt  but  profited  by  experience, 
which  sense  enlarged  her  mind  and  her  sympathies, 
and  imparted  to  her  demeanour  a  self-possession  and 
serenity  beyond  her  years. 

We  said  the  male  element,  with  scarce  an  exception, 
was  her  collective  slave.  Such  an  exception  was 
Laurence  Stanninghame. 

Without  being  a  misogynist,  he  had  no  great 
opinion  of  women.  He  owned  they  might  be  delight- 
ful— frequently  were — up  to  a  certain  point,  and  this 
was  the  point  at  which  you  began  to  take  them  seri- 
ously. But  to  treat  any  one  of  them  as  though  the 
sun  had  ceased  to  shine  because  her  presence  was 
withdrawn,  struck  him  as  sheer  insanity.  It  might  be 
all  right  for  youngsters  like  Holmes  or  Swaynston, 
the  licensed  fool  of  the  smoking  room,  or  Dyson,  to 
whose  senile  enthusiasm  for  the  mazy  rout  we  have 
heard  allusion  made — the  latter  on  the  principle  of 
"  no  fool  like  an  old  fool  " ;  but  not  for  him — not  for 
a  man  in  the  matured  vigour  of  his  physical  and  men- 
tal powers.  Wherefore,  when  forced  himself  to  ac- 
knowledge the  spell  which  Lilith  had  begun  to  weave 
around  him,  he  unhesitatingly  set  it  down  to  im- 
paired nerves. 

As  a  direct  result,  he  avoided  the  cause.  It  was 
a  cowardly  course  of  action,  he  told  himself.  He  was 
afraid  of  her.  If  she  could  throw  the  magic  of  her 
sorcery  over  him  during  a  brief  ten  minutes  of  con- 
versation, what  the  very  deuce  would  happen  if  he 
allowed  himself  to  be  drawn  into  anything  approach- 

27 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

ing  the  easy-going  shipboard  intimacy — deck-walk- 
ing by  moonlight,  chairs  drawn  up  in  a  snug  corner 
during  the  heat  of  the  day,  and  so  forth!  Who 
knew  what  latent  capacities  for  being  made  an  ass 
of  might  not  develop  themselves  within  him.  He 
felt  really  alarmed. 

Let  it  not  be  supposed  that  any  scruple  on  the 
ground  of  conventionality,  obligation,  what  not, 
entered  into  his  misgivings.  For  Laurence  Stanning- 
hame  had  been  clean  disillusioned  all  along  the  line. 
He  hadn't  the  shred  of  an  illusion  left.  He  had 
started  life  with  a  fair  stock-in-trade  of  good  inten- 
tions and  straight  ideas,  and,  indeed,  had  acted  up 
to  them  honestly,  and  in  good  faith.  But  now? — 

"  I've  had  a  h 1  of  a  time! "  he  would  exclaim  to 

himself,  during  one  of  those  meditative  gazes  out 
seaward,  for  which  we  heard  his  younger  friend 
taking  him  to  task.  "  Yes — just  that."  And  now, 
only  touching  middle  life,  he  believed  in  nothing  and 
nobody.  He  had  become  a  cold,  keen,  strong- 
headed,  selfish  cynic.  If  ever  his  mind  reverted  to 
the  fresher  and  more  generous  impulses  or  actions  of 
his  younger  days,  it  was  with  a  contemptuous  self- 
pity.  His  view  of  the  morality  of  life  now  was  just 
the  amount  of  success,  of  advantage,  of  gratification 
to  be  got  out  of  it.  He  thoroughly  indorsed  the 
principle  of  the  old  roue's  advice  to  his  grandson: 
"  Be  good,  and  you  may  be  happy — but  you'll  have 

d d  little  fun,"  taking  care  to  italicise  the  word 

"  may."  For  he  had  found  that  the  first  clause  of 
the  saw  had  brought  him  neither  happiness  nor  fun. 

With  his  fellow-passengers  on  board  the  Persian 
28 


"BEWARE  SUCH  UNHOLY  SPELLS!" 

he  was  neither  popular  nor  the  reverse.  Among  the 
men,  some  liked  him,  others  didn't.  He  was  genial 
enough,  and  good  company  in  the  smoking  room, 
but  wouldn't  do  anything  in  the  way  of  promoting 
the  general  amusement — and  that  voyage  was  a  par- 
ticularly lively  one  in  the  matter  of  getting  things  up. 
The  fair  section  of  the  saloon  was  puzzled,  and  could 
not  make  up  its  mind  whether  to  dislike  him  or  not. 
For  the  first,  he  consistently,  though  not  ostenta- 
tiously, avoided  it,  instead  of  laying  himself  out  to 
make  himself  agreeable — though  indications  were  not 
wanting  that  he  could  so  make  himself  if  he  chose. 
For  the  second,  the  fact  that  he  remained  an  unknown 
quantity  was  in  his  favour,  if  only  that  the  unfamiliar- 
ity  of  reserve — mystery — never  fails  to  appeal  strongly 
to  the  minds  of  women — and  savages. 

It  was  not  so  difficult  for  him  to  avoid  Lilith  Orms- 
kirk,  if  only  that  until  that  morning  he  had  hardly 
exchanged  a  hundred  words  with  her  at  a  time. 
Wherefore  the  upshot  of  his  resolve  was  noticeable 
neither  by  its  object  nor  by  the  passengers  at  large. 
Holmes,  indeed,  who,  having  recovered  from  his  con- 
sternation, had  been  secretly  watching  his  friend,  was 
anticipating  the  fun  of  seeing  the  latter  fall  headlong 
into  the  pit  whose  brink  he  had  so  boldly  skirted,  so 
openly  derided.  But  he  was  disappointed.  Lau- 
rence, if  he  referred  to  Lilith  again,  did  so  in  the  same 
casual,  indifferent  way  as  before,  nor  did  he  ever 
terminate  any  of  his  dreamy  and  seaward-gazing  medi- 
tations in  order  to  open  converse  with  her,  even 
with  such  inducement  as  solitary  propinquity  on  more 
than  one  occasion, 

29 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

"  By  Jove!  the  fellow  is  a  cross  between  an  icicle 
and  a  stone,"  quoth  Holmes  to  himself,  in  mingled 
wonder  and  disgust. 

It  was  night — warm,  sensuous,  tropical  night. 
There  was  dancing  in  the  saloon,  and  the  glare  from 
the  skylight  and  the  banging  of  the  piano  and  chatter 
of  voices  gave  forth  strange  contrast  to  the  awesome 
stillness  of  the  great  liquid  plain,  the  dewy  richness 
of  the  air,  the  stars  hanging  in  golden  clusters  from 
a  black  vault,  the  fiery  eye  of  some  larger  planet  roll- 
ing and  flashing  among  them  as  the  revolving  beacon 
of  a  lighthouse.  Here  the  muffled  throb  of  the  pro- 
peller, and  the  rushing  hiss  of  water  as  the  prow  of 
the  great  steamer  sheared  through  the  placid  surface, 
furrowing  up  on  either  side  a  long  line  of  phosphor- 
escent wave.  Such  a  contrast  he  who  stood  alone  in 
the  darkness,  leaning  over  the  taffrail,  could  appre- 
ciate nicely. 

There  were  quick,  light  footsteps.  Somebody  else 
was  walking  the  deck.  Well,  whoever  it  was,  he  him- 
self was  screened  by  the  stem  of  one  of  the  ship's  boats 
swung  in  and  resting  on  chocks.  They  would  not  see 
him,  which  was  all  right,  for  he  was  in  a  queer  mood 
and  not  inclined  to  talk.  After  a  turn  or  two,  the  foot- 
steps paused,  then  something  brushed  his  elbow  in 
the  darkness,  as  suddenly  starting  away,  while  a  half- 
frightened  voice  exclaimed: 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  couldn't  see  anything 
in  the  dark,  just  coming  up  out  of  the  light  of  the 
saloon,  too.  Why,  it's  Mr.  Stanninghame !  " 

30 


"BEWARE  SUCH  UNHOLY  SPELLS!" 

To  one  who  had  been  out  of  doors  even  a  few 
minutes  it  was  not  very  dark,  for  the  stars  were 
shining  with  vivid  brilliancy.  It  needed  not  the  sense 
of  sight,  that  of  hearing  was  enough.  Nay,  more, 
a  subtile  sixth  sense,  whatever  it  might  be,  had 
warned  Laurence  Stanninghame  of  the  identity  of  the 
intruder. 

"  No  case  of  mistaken  identity  here,"  he  said. 
"  But  how  is  it  you  are  all  by  yourself?  " 

"  Oh,  I  got  tired  of  all  the  whirl  and  chatter.  I 
craved  for  some  fresh  air,  and  so  I  stole  away,"  said 
Lilith.  "  Why,  how  heavy  the  dew  is  here  in  these 
tropical  seas!  "  she  added,  withdrawing  her  arm  from 
the  taffrail  upon  which  she  had  begun  to  lean. 

The  man,  watching  her  furtively,  said  nothing  for 
a  moment.  That  same  chord  within  him  thrilled  to 
her  voice,  her  propinquity.  Doubtless  his  nerves, 
high  strung  with  recent  worry,  were  playing  the  fool 
with  him.  He  was  conscious  of  a  kind  of  envenomed 
resentment,  almost  aversion;  yet  his  chief  misgiving 
at  that  moment,  which  he  recognized  with  added 
wrath,  was  lest  she  should  leave  him  as  quickly  as  she 
had  come. 

"All  by  yourself  as  usual!"  she  went  on,  flashing 
at  him  a  bright  smile.  "  Thinking,  I  suppose?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  was.  I  believe  I  was  trying 
to  realize  the  immensity  and  silence  of  the  midnight 
ocean,  as  far  as  that  tin-pot  racket  down  there  would 
allow  one  to  realize  anything.  Then  it  occurred  to 
me  how  long  it  would  take  for  the  intense  solitude  to 
drive  a  man  mad  if  he  were  cast  away  alone  in  it." 

31 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

"  Not  long,  I  should  think,"  answered  Lilith,  gaz- 
ing seriously  out  over  the  smooth,  oily  sea.  "The 
horror  of  it  would  soon  do  that  for  me." 

"  And  yet  why  should  it  have  such  an  effect  at  all?  " 
he  went  on.  "  The  grandeur  of  the  situation  ought 
to  counterpoise  any  such  weakness.  Given  enough 
to  support  life  without  undue  stinting,  with  a  certainty 
of  rescue  at  the  end,  and,  I  think,  a  fortnight  as  cast- 
away in  these  waveless  seas  would  be  an  uncommonly 
interesting  experience." 

"What?  A  fortnight?  A  whole  fortnight  in 
ghastly  solitude!  Silence  only  broken  by  the  splash 
or  snort  of  Heaven  knows  what  horrible  sea  monster! 
Any  consideration  of  peril  apart,  I  am  sure  that  one 
night  of  it  would  turn  me  into  a  raving,  gibbering 
lunatic." 

"  Perhaps.  People  are  differently  built.  For  my 
part,  discounting  the  '  sea  monster,'  I  am  certain  I 
should  enjoy  the  experience.  For  one  thing,  there 
would  be  no  post." 

"  But  no  more  there  is  here  on  board,"  she  said, 
struggling  with  the  laugh  which  the  dry  irrelevancy 
had  brought  to  her  lips. 

"  No — but  there's — Swaynston." 

This  time  the  laugh  came  rippling  outright,  and 
through  it  came  the  sound  of  footsteps. 

"  Oh,  here  you  are,  Miss  Ormskirk.  I've  been 
looking  for  you  everywhere.  This  is  our  dance." 

Lilith,  catching  the  satirical  twinkle  in  the  other's 
eyes  in  the  starlight,  did  not  know  which  way  to  turn 
to  control  an  overmastering  impulse  to  laugh  un- 
interruptedly for  about  five  minutes,  the  cruel  part 

32 


-BEWARE  SUCH  UNHOLY  SPELLS!" 

of  it  being  that  the  interrupter  was  Swaynston 
himself. 

The  latter,  a  pursy  individual,  was  holding  out  an 
arm  somewhat  in  the  attitude  of  a  seal's  flipper;  but 
Lilith  did  not  take  it. 

"  Do  be  very  good-natured  and  excuse  me,"  she 
said.  "  I  don't  want  to  dance  any  more  to-night;  the 
noise  and  heat  have  made  my  head  ache." 

"  Really,  really?  I'll  find  you  a  chair  then,  in  some 
quiet  corner,"  fussed  Swaynston.  But  Lilith  seemed 
not  enthusiastic  over  that  allurement,  and  finally,  with 
some  difficulty,  she  got  rid  of  him;  he  grinning  "  from 
the  teeth  outwards,"  but  consumed  with  fury  never- 
theless. 

So  that  was  why  she  had  stolen  away  from  them  all, 
to  slip  up  and  talk  in  a  quiet  corner  with  that  fellow 
Stanninghame,  who  was  probably  some  absconding 
swindler,  with  a  couple  of  detectives  and  a  warrant 
waiting  for  him  in  Table  Bay?  Thus  Swaynston. 

Nor  would  it  have  tended  to  allay  his  irritation 
could  he  have  heard  the  object  of  it  after  his 
departure. 

"  So  you  think  he  is  worse  than  the  post?  "  she  said, 
with  a  laugh  in  her  eyes.  "  Yet  he  is  one  of  the  most 
devoted  of  my — poodles." 

The  demure  malice  of  her  tone  no  more  discon- 
certed the  other  than  that  former  endeavour  to  show 
him  she  had  overheard  his  remarks  by  quoting 
his  own  words. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  was  the  unconcerned  reply.  "  He  sits 
up  on  his  hind  legs  a  little  better  than  any  of  them." 

For  a  few  moments  she  said  nothing,  seeming  to 

33 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE  SPIDER. 

have  become  infected  with  her  companion's  dreamy 
meditativeness.  Then: 

"  And  you  are  not  tired  of  the  voyage  yet?  You 
were  saying  the  other  day  that  its  monotony  was 
enjoyable." 

"  I  say  so  still.  Look!  "  he  broke  off,  pointing  to 
the  sea. 

A  commotion  was  going  on  beneath  its  surface. 
Their  grisly  shapes  vivid  in  the  disturbed  phosphor- 
escence, drawing  a  wake  of  flame  behind  them, 
rushed  two  great  sharks.  Hither  and  thither  they 
darted,  every  detail  of  their  ugly  forms  discernible 
on  the  framing  of  the  phosphorescent  blaze,  even  the 
set  glare  of  the  cruel  eye;  and,  no  less  nimble  in  swift 
doubling  flashes,  several  smaller  fish  were  trying  to 
evade  the  laws  of-nature — the  absorption  of  the  weak- 
est, to  wit.  There  was  something  indescribably 
horrible  in  the  fiery  rush  of  the  sea-demons  beneath 
the  oily  blackness  of  the  tropical  waters. 

"  How  awful!  how  truly  awful!  "  murmured  Lilith, 
with  a  strong  shudder  of  repulsion,  yet  gazing  as  one 
fascinated  at  the  weird  sight. 

"  Yet  it  is  the  perfection  of  an  object  lesson,  one 
that  comes  in  just  in  time  to  point  the  moral  to  my 
answer,"  he  said.  "  If  those  fish,  now  in  process  of 
being  eaten,  were  caught  and  kept  in  an  aquarium 
tank,  it  might  be  more  monotonous  for  them  than 
furnishing  fun  and  food  to  the  first  comer  in  the  way 
of  bigger  fish.  Possibly  they  might  yearn  for  the 
excitement  of  being  harried,  though  I  doubt  it.  That 
sort  of  philosophy  is  reserved  for  us  humans.  If  we 
knock  our  heads  against  a  brick  wall  we  howl;  if 

34 


"BEWARE  SUCH  UNHOLY  SPELLS!" 

we  haven't  got  a  brick  wall  to  knock  them  against  we 
howl  louder." 

"  And  the  moral  is?" 

"  Dona  nobis  pacein." 

"  I  see,"  she  said  at  last,  for  it  took  her  a  little  while 
to  thoroughly  grasp  the  application,  partly  distracted 
as  her  thinking  powers  were  in  trying  to  find  a  deeper 
meaning  than  the  one  intended.  "  Yet  peace  is  a 
thing  that  no  one  can  enjoy  in  this  world.  How 
should  they  when  the  law  of  life  is  struggle — struggle 
and  strife?" 

"  Precisely.  That,  however,  is  due  to  the  faultiness 
of  human  nature.  The  philosophy  of  the  matter  is 
the  same.  Its  soundness  remains  untouched." 

"  Yet  you  are  not  consistent.  You  were  implying 
just  now  that,  failing  a  brick  wall  to  knock  our  heads 
against,  we  started  in  search  of  one.  Now  does  not 
that  apply  to  those  who  go  out  into  the  world — to  the 
other  end  of  the  world — instead  of  remaining  peace- 
fully at  home?  "  she  added,  a  sly  sort  of  "  I-have- 
you-there  "  inflection  in  her  tone. 

"  Pardon  me.  My  consistency  is  all  right.  Beg- 
ging a  question  will  not  shatter  it." 

"Begging  a  question?" 

"  Of  course.  For  present  purposes  the  said  beg- 
ging is  comprised  in  the  word  '  peacefully.'  See?  " 

"Ah!" 

Again  she  was  silent.  The  other,  watching  the  flash 
of  the  starlight  on  the  meditative  upturned  eyes, 
the  clearly  marked  brows,  the  firm  setting  of  the  lips, 
was  more  conscious  than  ever  of  the  latent  witchery 
in  the  sweet,  serene  face.  He  would  not  flee  from  its 

35 


THE  SIGN  OF  THE   SPIDER. 

spells  now,  he  decided.  He  would  meet  them  boldly, 
and  throw  them  off,  coil  for  coil,  however  subtilely, 
however  dexterously  they  were  wound  about  him. 
Meanwhile,  two  things  had  not  escaped  him :  She  had 
yielded  the  point  gracefully,  and  convinced,  instead 
of  launching  out  into  a  voluble  farrago  of  irrelevant 
rubbish,  as  ninety-nine  women  out  of  a  hundred 
would  have  done  in  order  to  have  "  the  last  word/' 
That  argued  sense,  judgment,  tact.  Further,  she  had 
avoided  that  vulgar  commonplace,  instinctive  to  the 
crude  and  unthinking  mind,  of  whatever  sex,  of 
importing  a  personal  application  into  an  abstract  dis- 
cussion. This,  too,  argued  tact  and  mental  refine- 
ment, both  qualities  of  rarer  distribution  among  her 
sex  than  is  commonly  supposed — qualities,  however, 
which  Laurence  Stanninghame  was  peculiarly  able 
to  appreciate. 

Then  she  talked  about  other  things,  and  he  let  her 
talk,  just  throwing  in  a  word  here  and  there  to  stimu- 
late the  expansion  of  her  ideas.  And  they  were  good 
ideas,  too,  he  decided,  listening  keenly,  and  balanc- 
ing her  every  point,  whether  he  agreed  with  it  or  not. 
He  was  interested,  more  vividly  interested  than  he 
would  fain  admit!  This  girl  with  the  enthralling 
face  and  noble  beauty  of  form,  had  a  mind  as  well. 
All  the  slavish  adoration  she  received  had  not 
robbed  her  of  that.  It  was  an  experience  to  him, 
as  they  lounged  there  on  the  taffrail  together  in  the 
gold-spangled*  velvet  hush  of  the  tropical  night. 
How  delightfully  companionable  she  could  be,  he 
thought;  so  responsive,  so  discriminating  and  un- 
argumentative.  Argumentativeness  in  women  was 

36 


"BEWARE  SUCH  UNHOLY  SPELLS!" 

a  detestable  vice,  in  his  opinion,  for  it  meant  every- 
thing but  what  the  word  itself  etymologically  did. 
Craftily  he  drew  her  out,  cunningly  he  touched  up 
every  fallacy  or  crudeness  in  her  ideas,  in  such  wise 
that  she  unconsciously  adopted  his  amendments, 
under  the  impression  that  they  were  all  her  own. 

"  But — I  have  been  boring  you  all  this  time,"  she 
broke  off  at  last.  "  Confess  now,  you  who  are  nothing 
if  not  candid.  I  have  been  boring  your  life  out?  " 

"  Then,  on  your  own  showing,  I  am  nothing,  for 
I  am  not  candid,"  he  answered.  "  On  the  contrary, 
it  is  an  unadvisable  virtue,  and  one  calculated  to 
corner  you  without  loophole.  And  you  certainly 
have  not  been  boring  me." 

He  thought,  sardonically,  what  any  one  of  those 
whom  he  had  caustically  defined  as  her  "  poodles  " 
would  give  for  an  hour  or  so  of  similar  boredom,  if  it 
involved  Lilith  all  to  himself.  Some  of  this  must 
have  been  reflected  in  his  eyes,  for  Lilith  broke  in 
quickly: 

"No,  you  are  not  candid.  I  accept  the  amend- 
ment, I  can  see  the  sarcasm  in  your  face." 

"  But  not  on  that  account,"  he  rejoined  tranquilly, 
and  at  the  same  time  dropping  his  hand  on  to  hers 
as  it  rested  on  the  taffrail.  The  act — an  instinctive 
one — was  a  dumb  protest  against  the  movement  she 
had  made  to  withdraw.  And  as  such  Lilith  read  it; 
more  potent  in  its  impulsiveness  than  any  words 
could  have  been.  "  Listen!"  he  went  on.  "I  sup- 
pose there  is  a  sort  of  imp  of  scepticism  sitting  ever 
upon  one  shoulder,  and  that  is  what  you  saw.  Some- 
thing in  my  thoughts  suggested  a  droll  contrast,  that 

37 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

was  all.  So  far  from  boring  me,  you  have  afforded 
me  an  intensely  agreeable  surprise." 

"  Now  you  are  sneering  again.  I  will  not  talk 
any  more." 

He  recognized  in  her  tone  a  quick  sensitiveness — 
not  temper.  Accordingly  his  own  took  on  an  uncon- 
scious softness,  a  phenomenally  unwonted  softness. 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  child.  You  know  I  was  doing 
nothing  of  the  sort.  Go  on  with  what  you  were  say- 
ing at  once." 

"  What  was  I  saying?  Oh,  I  remember.  That 
idea  that  board-ship  life  shows  people  in  their  real 
character.  Do  you  believe  in  it? " 

"  Only  in  the  case  of  those  who  have  no  real 
character  to  show.  Wherein  is  a  paradox.  Those 
who  have  got  any — well,  don't  show  it,  either  on 
board  ship  or  on  shore." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right.  Now,  my  own  character, 
do  you  think  it  shows  out  more  readable  on  board  than 
it  would  on  shore." 

"  Do  you  think  you  have  me  so  transparently  as 
that?  What  was  I  saying  just  now  on  that  head?" 

"  I  see.  Really,  though,  I  had  no  ulterior  motive. 
I  asked  the  question  in  perfect  good  faith.  Tell  me 
— if  anyone  can,  you  can.  Tell  me.  Shall  I  make 
a  success — a  good  thing  of  life?  I  often  wonder." 

She  threw  up  her  head  with  a  quick  movement, 
and  the  wide,  serious  eyes,  fixed  full  upon  his,  seemed 
to  flash  in  the  starlight.  He  met  the  glance  with  one 
as  earnest  and  unswerving  as  her  own. 

"  You  rate  my  powers  of  vaticination  too  high,"  he 
said  slowly,  "  and — you  are  groping  after  an  ideal." 

38 


-BEWARE  SUCH  UNHOLY  SPELLS!" 

"  Perhaps.  Tell  me,  though,  what  you  think, 
character-reader  as  you  are.  Shall  I  make  a  success 
of  life?" 

"  I  should  think  the  chances  were  pretty  evenly 
balanced  either  way,  inclining,  if  anything,  to  the 
reverse." 

"  Thanks.     I  shall  remember  that." 

"  But  you  are  not  obliged  to  believe  it." 

"  No.  I  shall  remember  it.  And  now  I  must 
go  below;  it  is  nearly  time  for  putting  out  the  saloon 
lights.  Good-night.  I  have  enjoyed  our  talk  so  much." 

She  had  extended  her  hand,  and  as  he  took  it,  the 
sympathetic — was  it  magnetic? — pressure  was  mutual, 
almost  lingering. 

"  Good-night,"  he  said.  "  The  enjoyment  has  not 
been  all  on  one  side." 

Left  alone,  he  returned  to  his  solitary  musings — 
tried  to,  rather,  for  there  was  no  "  return  "  about  the 
matter,  because  now  they  took  an  entirely  new  line. 
His  late  companion  would  intrude  upon  them — nay, 
monopolized  them.  She  had  appealed  powerfully  to 
his  senses,  to  his  mind,  how  long  would  it  be  before 
she  did  so  to  his  heart?  He  had  avoided  her — he 
alone — up  till  then,  and  yet  now,  after  this  first  con- 
versation, he  was  convinced  that  of  all  gathered 
there  he  alone  knew  the  real  Lilith  Ormskirk  as  dis- 
tinct from  the  superficial  one  known  to  the  residue. 
And  to  his  mind  recurred  her  former  warning, 
laughingly  uttered:  "Beware  such  unholy  spells!" 
With  a  strange  intoxicating  recollection  did  that 
warning  recur,  together  with  the  consciousness  that 
more  than  ever  was  it  needed  now.  But  as  against 

39 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

this  was  the  protecting  strength  of  a  triple  chain 
armour.  Life  was  only  rendered  interesting  by  such 
interesting  character  studies  as  this.  Oh,  yes;  that 
was  the  solution — that,  and  nothing  more. 

This  was  by  no  means  the  last  talk  they  had — they 
two  alone  together.  But  it  seemed  to  Laurence 
Stanninghame  that  a  warning  note  had  been  sounded, 
and  one  of  no  uncertain  nature.  His  tone  became 
more  acrid,  his  sarcasm  more  biting,  more  envenomed. 
One  day  Lilith  said: 

"  Why  do  you  dislike  me  so?" 

He  started  at  the  question,  thrown  momentarily 
off  his  guard. 

"  I  don't  dislike  you,"  he  answered  shortly. 

"  Then  why  have  you  such  a  very  poor  opinion  of 
me?  You  never  lose  an  opportunity  of  letting  me  see 
that  you  have.  What  have  I  done?  What  have  I 
said  that  you  should  think  so  poorly  of  me?" 

There  was  no  spice  of  temper,  of  resentment,  in 
the  tone.  It  was  soft,  and  rather  pleading.  The 
serious  eyes  were  sweet  and  wistful.  As  his  own 
met  their  steady  gaze,  it  seemed  that  a  current  of 
magnetic  thought  flashed  from  mind  to  mind. 

"  I  hold  no  such  opinion,"  he  said,  after  a  few 
moments  of  silence.  "  Perhaps  I  dread  those  '  unholy 
spells,'  thou  sorceress.  Ah!  there  goes  the  second 
dinner-bell.  Run  away  now,  and  make  yourself  more 
beautiful  than  ever — if  possible." 

A  bright  laugh  flashed  in  the  hazel  eyes,  and  the 
white  teeth  showed  in  a  smile. 

"  I'll  try — since  you  wish  it,"  she  said  over  her 
shoulder,  as  she  turned  away. 

40 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  LAND   OF  PROMISE. 

THE  throb  of  the  propeller  has  almost  ceased; 
faint,  too,  is  the  vibration  of  the  slowed-down 
engines.  The  Persian  is  gliding  with  well-nigh  im- 
perceptible motion  through  the  smooth  waters  of 
Table  Bay. 

It  is  a  perfect  morning,  cloudless  in  its  dazzling 
splendour.  In  front,  the  huge  Table  Mountain  rears 
its  massive  wall,  dwarfing  the  mud-town  lying  at  its 
base  and  the  bristling  masts  of  shipping,  its  great 
line  mirrored  in  the  sheeny  surface.  Away  in  the 
distance,  the  purple  cones  of  the  Hottentots  Holland 
mountains  loom  thirstily  through  a  glimmer  of  sum- 
mer haze.  A  fair  scene  indeed  after  three  weeks  of 
endless  sea  and  sky. 

"  And  what  are  your  first  impressions  of  my  native 
land?" 

Laurence  turned. 

"  I  was  thinking  less  of  the  said  land  than  of  myself," 
he  answered.  "  I  was  thinking  what  potentialities 
would  lie  between  my  first  impressions  of  it  and  my 
last." 

Just  a  suspicion  of  gravity  came  over  Lilith  Orms- 
kirk's  face  at  the  remark. 

"  And  are  you  glad  the  voyage  is  at  an  end,  now 
that  it  is?  "  she  went  on. 

"  You  know  I  am  not.     It  was  such  a  rest." 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

"  Which  I  was  everlastingly  disturbing." 

"  By  wreathing  those  unholy  spells.  Lilith,  thou 
sorceress,  how  long  will  it  be  before  those  talks  of 
ours  are  forgotten?  A  week,  perhaps?" 

"  They  will  never  be  forgotten,"  she  answered,  her 
eyes  dreamy  and  serious.  "  But  now,  I  must  go  below 
and  finish  doing  up  my  things.  We  shall  be  in  dock 
directly." 

A  great  crowd  is  collected  on  the  quay  as  the 
steamer  warps  up,  above  which  rise  sunshades 
coloured  and  coquettish,  pith  helmets  and  sweeping 
puggarees,  and  more  orthodox  white  "  stove-pipes." 
Then  in  the  background,  yellow-skinned  Malays  in 
gaudy  Oriental  attire,  parchment-faced  Hottentots, 
Mozambique  blacks,  and  lighter-hued  Kaffirs  from  the 
Eastern  frontier.  The  docks  are  piled  with  luggage, 
for  the  privilege  of  carrying  which  and  its  multifold 
owners  Malay  cab-drivers  are  uttering  shrill  and  com- 
peting yells.  On  board,  people  are  bidding  each  other 
good-bye  or  greeting  those  who  have  come  to  meet 
them;  and  flitting  among  such  groups,  a  mingled  ex- 
pression of  alertness  and  anxiety  on  his  countenance, 
is  here  and  there  a  steward,  bent  upon  sounding  up  a 
possibly  elusive  "  tip,':  or  refreshing  an  inconveniently 
short  memory. 

Near  the  gangway  Lilith  Ormskirk  was  holding 
quite  a  farewell  court.  Her  "  poodles,"  as  Laurence 
had  satirically  defined  them,  were  crowding  around — 
Swaynston  at  their  head — for  a  farewell  pat.  The 
last,  in  the  shape  of  Holmes  and  another,  had  taken 
their  sorrowful  departure,  and  now  a  quick,  furtive 
look  seemed  to  cross  the  smiling  serenity  of  her  face, 

42 


THE   LAND   OF   PROMISE. 

a  shade  of  wistfulness,  of  disappointment.  Thus  one 
in  the  hurrying  throng  at  the  other  side  of  the  deck 
read  it. 

"  What  a  tail-wagging!  "  almost  immediately  spake 
a  voice  at  her  side. 

She  turned.  Decidedly  the  expression  was  one  of 
brightening. 

"  I  thought  you  had  gone — had  forgotten  to  say 
good-bye,"  she  said. 

"  I  was  waiting  until  the  poodles  had  finally  cleared. 
Now,  however,  I  have  come  to  utter  that  not  always 
hateful  word." 

"  Not  in  this  instance?  " 

"  Yes,  distinctly.  I  have  just  heard  there  is  to  be 
a  special  train  made  up — we  are  in  too  late  for  the 
regular  mail-train,  you  know.  So  I  shall  leave  for 
Kimberley  in  about  two  or  three  hours'  time." 

Lilith  looked  disappointed. 

"  I  thought  you  would  have  stayed  here  at  least  a 
few  days,"  she  said.  And  then  the  friends  who  had 
met  her  on  board  returned,  and  Laurence  found  him- 
self introduced  to  three  pretty  girls — fair-haired,  blue- 
eyed,  well-dressed — eke  to  a  man — tall,  brown-faced, 
loosely  hung,  apparently  about  thirty  years  of  age — 
none  of  whose  names  he  could  quite  succeed  in  catch- 
ing, save  that  the  latter  was  apostrophized  as  "George." 
Then,  after  a  commonplace  or  two,  good-byes  were 
uttered  and  they  separated — Lilith  and  her  party  to 
catch  the  train  for  Mowbray,  her  late  fellow-passenger 
to  arrange  for  his  own  much  longer  journey. 

Having  the  compartment  to  themselves,  one  of  the 
blue-eyed  girls  opened  fire  thus: 

43 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

"Lilith,  who  is  he?" 

"  Who?  " 

"  He." 

"Bless  the  child,"  laughed  Lilith,  "there  were 
about  half  a  hundred  he's." 

"  No,  there  was  only  one.  Who  is  he?  What 
is  he?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Lilith,  affecting  ignorance 
no  longer. 

"  You  don't  know?  After  three  weeks  on  board 
ship  together?  Three  whole  weeks  of  ship  life,  and 
you  have  the  face  to  tell  me  you  don't  know  anything 
about  him.  After  the  way  in  which  you  said  good- 
bye to  each  other,  too?  Oh,  I  saw." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know." 

"Or  care?" 

"  Chaff  away,  if  it's  any  fun  to  you,"  answered 
Lilith  quite  serenely,  as  the  trio  rippled  into  peals  of 
laughter. 

"  I  liked  the  man,  liked  to  talk  to  him  on  board — 
you  are  welcome  to  the  admission — but  all  I  know  is 
that  he  is  going  to  Johannesburg.  We  may  never 
see  each  other  again." 

"  These  English  Johnnies  who  come  out  here,  and 
whom  one  knows  nothing  about,  are  now  and  again 
slippery  fish,"  gruffly  spoke  the  brown-faced  one. 
"  Watch  it,  Lilith." 

"  I  thought  this  one  looked  as  if  he  might  be  inter- 
esting," said  another  of  the  blue-eyed  girls.  "  Pity 
he  wasn't  staying  a  day  or  two.  We  might  have  got 
him  out  to  the  house  and  seen  what  he  was  made  of." 

44 


THE   LAND   OF   PROMISE. 

"  Watch  it,"  repeated  George  sententiously. 
•'  Watch  it,  Lilith." 

Meanwhile,  the  object  of  this  discussion — and  warn- 
ing— having  resignedly  "  passed  "  the  Customs  at  the 
dock  gates,  was  spinning  townwards  in  one  of  the 
innumerable  hansoms.  Sizing  up  the  South  African 
metropolis,  it  gave  him  the  idea  of  a  mud  city,  just 
dumped  down  wet  and  left  to  dry  in  the  sun.  Its 
general  aspect  suggested  the  vagaries  of  some  sportive 
Titan,  who,  from  the  summit  of  the  lofty  rock  wall 
behind  it,  had  amused  himself,  out  of  office  hours,  by 
chucking  down  chunks  of  clay  of  all  sorts  and  sizes, 
trying  how  near  he  could  "  lob "  them  into  the 
position  of  streets  and  squares. 

At  that  time  the  railway  line  ended  at  Kimberley 
— the  distance  thence  to  Johannesburg,  close  upon 
three  hundred  miles,  had  to  be  done  by  stage.  It 
occurred  to  Laurence  that,  having  a  couple  of  hours 
to  spare,  he  had  better  look  up  the  coach-agent  and 
secure  a  seat  by  wire. 

The  agent  was  not  in  his  office.  Laurence  Stan- 
ninghame,  however,  who  knew  the  ways  of  similar 
countries,  albeit  a  new  arrival  in  this,  inquired  for 
that  functionary's  favourite  bar.  The  reply  was 
prompt  and  accurate  withal.  In  a  few  minutes, 
seated  on  stools  facing  each  other,  he  and  the  object  of 
his  search  were  transacting  business. 

The  latter  did  not  seem  entirely  satisfactory.  The 
agent  could  not  say  when  the  earliest  chance  might 
occur  by  regular  coach.  He  might  have  to  wait  at 

45 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

Kimberley — well,  it  might  be  for  days,  or  it  might  be 
for  ever.  On  the  other  hand,  he  might  not  even  have 
to  wait  at  all.  He  could  not  tell.  Even  the  people 
at  the  other  end  could  not  say  for  certain.  Laurence 
began  to  lose  patience. 

"  See  here,"  he  said  somewhat  testily.  "  I  haven't 
been  long  in  your  country,  but  that's  about  the  only 
reply  I've  been  able  to  meet  with  to  any  question  yet. 
Tell  me,  as  a  matter  of  curiosity,  is  there  any  one 
thing  you  are  ever  certain  of  out  here?  Just  one." 

The  agent  looked  at  him  with  faint  amazement. 

"  There  is  one,"  he  said;  "  just  one." 

"  Well— and  that?  " 

"  Death.  That's  always  a  dead  cert.  Let's  liquor. 
Put  a  name  to  it,  skipper." 

The  special  train  consisted  of  a  mail  van  and  a 
first-class  carriage.  There  being  only  three  or  four 
other  travellers  each  had  a  compartment  to  himself, 
an  arrangement  which  met  with  Laurence  Stanning- 
hame's  unfeigned  approval.  He  did  not  want  to  talk 
— especially  in  a  clattering,  dusty  railway  carriage. 
At  intervals  the  passengers  foregathered  for  meals  at 
some  wayside  buffet  or  accommodation  house, — meals 
whose  quality  was  in  inverse  ratio  to  the  exuber- 
ance of  the  prices  charged  therefor, — then  each  would 
return  to  his  own  box  and  smoke  and  read  and  sleep 
away  the  little  matter  of  seven  hundred  miles. 

On  they  sped  for  hours  and  hours — on  through 
sleepy  Dutch  villages,  whose  gardens  and  cultivation 
made  an  oasis  on  the  surrounding  flats — on,  winding 
in  a  slow  ascent  through  the  gloomy  grandeur  of  the 

46 


THE   LAND   OF   PROMISE. 

Hex  River  Poort,  with  its  iron-bound  heights  rearing 
in  mighty  masses  from  the  level  valley  bottom. 
Then  it  grew  dark,  and,  the  dim  oil  lamp  being  in- 
adequate for  reading  purposes,  Laurence  went  to 
sleep. 

"  Afar  in  the  desert  I  love  to  ride," 

sang  Pringle,  the  South  African  bard. 

"  Pringle  was  a  liar,  or  a  lunatic,"  quoth  Laurence 
Stanninghame,  to  whom  the  passage  was  familiar,  on 
opening  his  eyes  next  morning  and  looking  around. 
For  the  train  was  speeding — when  not  slowing — 
through  the  identical  desert  of  which  Pringle  sang; 
that  heart-breaking,  dead-level,  waterless,  treeless  belt 
known  as  the  Karroo.  Not  a  human  habitation  in 
sight,  for  hours  at  a  stretch — the  same  low  table- 
topped  mountains  rising  hours  ahead,  and  which 
never  seemed  to  get  any  closer,  looking,  moreover,  in 
the  distant,  mirage-effects,  like  vast  slabs  poised  in 
mid-air  and  resting  on  nothing.  At  long  intervals 
a  group  of  foul  and  tumble-down  Hottentot  huts,  with 
their  squalid  inhabitants — lean  curs  and  ape-like  men; 
their  raison  d'etre,  in  the  shape  of  a  flock  of  prema- 
turely aged  and  disappointed-looking  goats,  trying  all 
they  are  worth  to  extract  sustenance  from  the  red  shaly 
earth  and  its  sparse  growth  of  coarse  bush-like  herbage. 
Looking  out  on  this  horrible  desert,  the  eye  and  the 
mind  alike  grow  weary,  and  the  latter  starts  specu- 
lating in  a  shuddering  sort  of  a  way  as  to  how  the 
deuce  anything  human  can  find  it  in  its  heart  to  exist 
in  such  a  place.  Yet  though  an  awful  desert  in  time 
of  drought  it  is  not  always  so. 

47 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

But  gazing  forth  upon  the  surrounding  waste, 
Laurence  was  able  to  read  into  it  a  certain  charm 
— the  charm  of  freedom,  of  boundlessness,  so  vividly 
standing  out  in  contrast  to  his  own  cramped,  narrow, 
shut-in  life.  All  the  changed  conditions — the  wild- 
ness,  the  solitude,  the  flaming  and  unclouded  sun — 
were  as  a  new  awakening  to  life.  The  current  of  a 
certain  joy  of  living,  long  since  sluggish,  congealed, 
now  coursed  swiftly  and  without  hinderance  through 
his  being. 

Now  through  all  those  hours  of  tedious  travelling — 
in  the  flaming  glow  of  day,  or  in  the  still,  cool  watches 
of  the  night,  he  had  with  him  a  recollection — Lilith 
Ormskirk's  face  haunted  him.  Those  eyes  seemed  to 
follow  him — sweet,  serious;  or  again  mirthful,  flash- 
ing from  out  their  dark  fringe  of  lashes,  but  ever 
entrancing,  ever  inviting.  Her  whole  personality,  in 
fact,  seemed  to  pervade  his  mind,  warring  for  sole 
possession,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other  thought, .  all 
other  consideration.  Into  the  conflict  his  own  mind 
entered  with  a  zest.  It  was  a  psychological  struggle 
which  appealed  to  him,  and  that  thoroughly.  She 
should  not,  by  her  witchery,  take  entire  possession. 
Yet  the  recollection  of  her  was  so  potent  that  at 
length  he  ceased  to  strive  against  it.  He  gave  way, 
— abandoned  himself  contentedly,  voluptuously  to  its 
sway,— even  aiding  it  in  the  pictures  it  conjured  up. 
Now  he  saw  her,  as  he  had  first  passed  her,  day  after 
day  on  board  ship,  with  indifference,  with  faintly 
ironical  curiosity;  again,  as  when  they  had  first 
begun  to  talk  together;  and  yet  again,  when  he  had 
found  himself  resorting  to  all  manner  of  cowardly 

48 


THE   LAND  OF   PROMISE. 

mental  expedients  to  persuade  himself  that  he  did 
not  revel  in  her  dangerously  winning  attractiveness, 
and  sweet  sympathetic  converse.  In  the  monotonous 
three-four  time  beat  of  the  wheels  he  could  conjure 
up  her  voice — even  the  colonial  trick  of  clipping  the 
final  "  r "  in  words  ending  with  that  letter — as  to 
which  he  had  often  rallied  her,  while  secretly  liking 
it — for  this,  like  a  tpuch  of  the  brogue,  can  be  win- 
some enough  when  uttered  by  pretty  lips.  Now  all 
these  reflections  could  not  but  be  profitless,  possibly 
dangerous,  yet  they  had  this  advantage — they  helped 
to  kill  time,  and  that  during  a  thirty-odd- 
hour  journey  across  the  Karroo.  Well,  it  is  an 
advantage ! 

On  through  the  long,  hot  day,  and  still  that 
memory  was  with  him.  The  solitude,  the  stillness, 
the  mile  after  mile  over  the  desolate  and  barren 
waste,  the  novelty  of  the  scene,  the  monotonous 
rattle  of  the  wheels — all  went  to  perpetuate  it. 
Then  the  sun  drew  down  to  the  horizon,  and  the 
departing  glow,  striking  upon  the  red  soil,  painted 
the  latter  the  colour  of  blood,  making  up  an  extraor- 
dinarily vivid  study  in  red  and  blue.  Overhead  a 
cloudless  sky,  the  horizon  all  aflame,  and  the  whole 
earth,  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  steeped  in  the 
richest  purple  red.  Laurence  fell  fast  asleep. 

He  dreamed  they  were  steaming  into  Charing 
Cross  Station.  Lilith  was  waiting  to  meet  him.  He 
swore,  in  his  dream,  because  they  had  halted  on  the 
railway  bridge  too  long  to  take  the  tickets.  Then 
he  awoke.  They  were  steaming  slowly  into  a  ter- 
minus, amid  the  familiar  flashing  of  lamps  and  the 

49 


THE  SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

rumbling  of  porters'  trucks.  But  it  was  not  Charing 
Cross,  it  was  Kimberley. 

Not  long  did  it  take  him  to  collect  his  scanty  bag- 
gage and  fling  it  into  a  "  cab,"  otherwise  an  open, 
two-seated  Cape  cart.  Hardly  had  he  taken  his  seat 
than  the  driver  uttered  a  war-whoop,  and,  with  a  jerk 
that  nearly  sent  its  passenger  somersaulting  into 
the  road,  the  concern  started  off  as  hard  as  its  eight 
legs  and  two  wheels  could  carry  it. 

The  night  was  dark,  the  streets  guiltless  of  light- 
ing. As  the  trap  zigzagged  furiously  from  one  side 
of  the  way  to  the  other,  now  poised  on  one  wheel, 
now  leaping  bodily  into  the  air  as  it  charged  through 
a  deep  hole  or  rut,  it  was  a  comfort  to  the  said  passen- 
ger to  reflect  that  the  road  being  feet  deep  in  sand  one 
was  bound  to  fall  soft  anyhow.  Yet,  candidly,  he 
rather  enjoyed  it.  After  thirty-three  hours  in  a  South 
African  "  Flying  Watkin  "  even  this  spurious  excite- 
ment was  welcome. 

They  shaved  corners,  always  on  one  wheel,  some- 
times even  scraping  the  corners  of  houses,  and  causing 
those  pedestrians  in  their  line  of  flight  to  skip  like 
young  unicorns.  Then,  recovering,  the  startled  way- 
farers would  hurl  their  choicest  blessings  after  the 
cab.  To  these,  the  madcap  driver  would  reply  with 
a  shrill  and  fiendish  yell,  belabouring  his  frantic 
cattle  with  a  view  to  attempting  fresh  feats.  They 
succeeded.  It  only  wanted  a  bullock-waggon  coming 
down  the  street  to  afford  them  the  opportunity.  The 
bullock-waggon  came.  Then  a  dead,  dull  scrunch — 
an  awful  shock — and  the  cab  was  at  a  standstill. 
The  waggon  people  opened  their  safety-valves  and 

50 


THE   LAND   OF   PROMISE. 

let  off  a  fearful  blast  of  profanity;  the  cab-driver 
replied  in  suitable  and  feeling  terms,  then  backed 
clear  of  the  wreck  and  whipped  on. 

Vastly  amused  by  this  lively  experience,  Laurence 
still  ventured  to  expostulate,  mildly,  and  as  a  matter 
of  form.  But  he  got  no  more  change  out  of  his 
present  Jehu  than  Horace  Greeley  did  of  Hank 
Monk.  The  reply,  accompanied  by  a  jovial  guffaw, 
was: 

"  All  right,  mister.  You  sit  tight,  and  I'll  fetch  you 
through.  Which  hotel  did  you  say?  " 

Laurence  refreshed  his  memory — and  swaying, 
jerking,  pounding,  into  ruts  and  holes,  the  chariot  drew 
up  like  a  hurricane  blast  before  quite  an  imposing- 
looking  building  at  the  corner  of  the  Market  Square. 
Having  paid  off  the  lunatic  of  the  whip  and  stood 
him  a  drink,  Laurence  engaged  a  room,  and  won- 
dered what  the  deuce  he  should  do  with  himself 
if  delayed  here  any  time.  For  the  glimpse  he  had 
obtained  of  the  place  seemed  not  inviting.  The  same 
crowded  bars,  the  same  roaring  racket,  the  same  dust 
— yea,  even  the  same  thirst.  He  had  seen  it  all 
before  in  other  parts  of  the  world. 

He  was  destined  to  wonder  still  more,  and  wearily, 
what  he  should  do  with  himself;  for  nearly  a  week 
went  by  before  he  could  secure  a  seat  in  the  coach. 
A  great  depression  came  upon  him,  begotten  of  the 
heat  and  the  drowsiness  and  the  dust,  as  day  after 
day  seemed  to  bring  with  it  no  emancipation  from 
the  wind-swept,  tin-built  town,  dumped  down  on  its 
surrounding  flat  and  sad-looking  desert  waste.  Yet 
nothing  akin  to  homesickness  was  there  in  his  depres- 

51 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

sion.  He  wanted  to  get  onward,  not  to  return.  He 
was  bored  and  in  the  blues.  Yet,  as  he  looked  back, 
the  feeling  which  predominated  was  that  of  freedom — 
of  having  a  certain  measure  of  life  and  its  prospects 
before  him.  Stay,  though.  His  thoughts  would,  at 
times,  travel  backward,  and  that  in  spite  of  himself, 
and  they  would  land  him  with  a  lingering,  though 
unacknowledged,  regretfulness,  on  the  deck  of  the 
Persian.  Well,  that  was  only  an  episode.  It  had 
passed  away  out  of  his  life,  and  it  was  as  well  that 
it  had. 

But— had  it? 

At  last,  to  our  wayfarer's  unspeakable  joy,  deliver- 
ance came.  It  had  been  Laurence's  lot  to  travel  in 
far  worse  conveyances  than  the  regular  coaches  which 
at  that  time  performed  the  journey  between  Kimber- 
ley  and  Johannesburg,  a  distance  of  close  upon  three 
hundred  miles;  consequently,  although  not  among 
the  fortunate  ones  who  had  secured  a  corner  seat,  he 
managed  to  make  himself  as  comfortable  as  any 
traveller  in  comparatively  outlandish  regions  has  a 
right  to  expect.  His  fellow-passengers  consisted,  for 
the  most  part,  of  mechanics  of  the  better  sort  and  a 
loquacious  Jew — not  at  all  a  bad  sort  of  fellow — in 
conversation  with  whom  he  would  now  and  then 
beguile  the  weariness  of  the  route.  And  it  was  weary. 
The  flat  sameness  of  the  treeless  plains,  as  mile  after 
mile  brought  no  change;  the  same  stony  kopjes; 
the  same  deserted  and  tumble-down  mining  struc- 
tures; the  same  God-forsaken-looking  Dutch  home- 
steads,  whose  owners  had  apparently  taken  on  the 

52 


THE   LAND  OF   PROMISE. 

triste  hopelessness  of  their  surroundings;  the  same 
miserable  wayside  inns,  where  leathery  goat-flesh 
and  bones  and  rice,  painted  yellow,  were  dispensed 
under  the  title  of  breakfast  and  dinner,  what  time  the 
coach  halted  to  change  horses,  and  even  then  only 
served  up  when  the  driver  was  frantically  vociferating, 
"  All  aboard!  "  Thus  they  journeyed  day  and  night, 
allowing,  perhaps,  three  hours,  or  four  at  the  outside, 
for  sleep — on  a  bed.  But  the  latter  proved  an  in- 
stitution of  dubious  beneficence,  because  of  its  far 
from  dubious  animation;  the  said  "animation" 
scorning  blithely  and  imperviously  accumulations  of 
insect  powder,  reaching  back  into  the  dim  past,  left 
there  and  added  to  by  a  countless  procession  of 
tortured  travellers.  Howbeit,  of  these  and  like  dis- 
comforts are  such  journeyings  productive,  wherefore 
they  are  scarcely  to  be  reckoned  as  worthy  of  note. 


53 


CHAPTER  V. 

KING    SCRIP. 

"  HALLO,  Stanninghame !    And  so,  here  you  are?  " 

"  Here  I  am,  Rainsford,  as  you  say ;  and  from  what 
I  have  heard  in  process  of  getting  here,  I'm  afraid 
I  have  got  here  a  day  too  late." 

The  other  laughed,  as  they  shook  hands.  He  was 
a  man  of  Laurence's  own  age,  straight  and  active, 
and  his  bronzed  face  wore  that  alert,  eager  look  which 
was  noticeable  upon  the  faces  of  most  of  the  fortune- 
seekers,  for  of  such  was  the  bulk  of  the  inhabitants 
of  Johannesburg  at  that  time. 

"  You  never  can  tell,"  he  rejoined.  "  Things  are 
a  bit  slack  now,  because  of  this  infernal  drought;  but 
a  good  sousing  rain,  or  a  few  smart  thunder  showers, 
would  fill  all  the  dams  and  set  the  batteries  working 
again  harder  than  ever.  It's  the  rainy  time  of  year, 
too." 

It  was  the  morning  after  Laurence's  arrival  in 
Johannesburg,  and,  while  sallying  forth  to  find  Rains- 
ford,  the  two  had  met  on  Commissioner  Street.  The 
brand-new  gold-town  looked  anything  but  what  it 
was.  It  did  not  look  new.  In  spite  of  the  general 
unfinishedness  of  the  streets  and  sidewalks,  the  latter 
largely  conspicuous  by  their  absence;  in  spite  of  the 

54 


KING  SCRIP. 

predominance  of  scaffolding  poles  and  half-reared 
structures  of  red  brick;  in  spite  of  the  countless 
tenements  of  corrugated  iron,  and  the  tall  chimneys 
of  mining  works  which  came  in  here  where  steeples 
would  have  arisen  in  an  ordinary  town;  in  spite  of 
all  this  there  was  a  battered  and  weather-beaten 
aspect  about  the  place  which  made  it  look  centuries 
old.  Great  pillars  of  dust  towered  skywards,  then 
dispersing,  whirled  in  mighty  wreaths  over  the  shining 
iron  roofs,  to  fall  hissing  back  into  the  red-powdery 
streets  whence  they  arose,  choking  with  pungent  par- 
ticles the  throats,  eyes,  and  ears  of  the  eager,  busy, 
speculative,  acquisitive  crowd,  who  had  flocked  hither 
like  wasps  to  a  jar  of  beer  and  honey.  And  to  many, 
indeed,  it  was  destined  to  prove  just  such  a  trap. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  advise,  Rainsford? "  said 
Laurence,  after  some  more  talk  about  the  Rand  and 
its  prospects. 

"  Wait  a  day  or  two.  You  don't  want  to  buy  in  a 
falling  market.  There  are  several  good  companies  to 
put  into,  but  things  haven't  touched  bottom  yet. 
When  they  do  and  just  begin  to  rise,  then  buy  in. 
Meanwhile  lie  low." 

"  You  speak  like  a  book,  Rainsford,"  said  one  of 
two  men  who  joined  them  at  that  moment.  "  There's 
a  capital  company  now  whose  shares  are  on  the  rise 
again.  Couldn't  do  better  than  take  two  or  three 
hundred  of  them.  What  do  you  say?  " 

"  Name?  " 

"  Bai-praatfonteins." 

"I'll  watch  it!"  said  Rainsford,  with  an  emphatic 
and  negative  shake  of  the  head. 

55 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

"  I  say,  you  don't  want  a  couple  of  building  stands? 
They'll  treble  their  value  in  as  many  weeks.  Going 
cheap  as  dirt  now." 

"  Not  taking  any,  Rankin,"  was  the  uncompromis- 
ing reply,  for  Rainsford  knew  something  about  those 
building  stands. 

"  You're  making  a  mistake.  Bless  my  soul,  if  only 
I  had  the  money  to  spare,  I'd  take  them  at  double 
myself.  I'm  only  agent  in  the  matter,  though.  I  can't 
do  any  business  at  all  with  you  fellows  this  morning." 

All  this  was  said  in  the  most  genial  and  good- 
humoured  tone  imaginable.  The  speaker  was  a 
spare,  straight,  neatly  dressed  individual  of  middle 
age.  His  face  was  of  a  dark  bronze  hue,  lit  up 
by  a  pair  of  keen  black  eyes,  and  his  beard  was  pre- 
maturely gray,  almost  white.  The  expression  of 
keenness  on  a  deal  was  not  characteristic  of  him 
alone.  Everyone  wore  it  in  those  days. 

"  That  was  a  great  old  shot  you  did  on  me,  Rains- 
ford,  with  those  Verneuk  Draais,"  cut  in  the  other 
man,  in  a  jolly,  hail-the-maintop  sort  of  voice.  He 
was  a  tall,  fair-haired,  athletic  fellow,  whose  condition 
looked  as  hard  as  nails,  "/a,  it  just  was." 

"  Well,  I'll  buy  them  back  if  you  like,  Wheeler." 

"How  much?" 

"  Sixteen  and  a  half." 

A  roar  of  good-humoured  derision  went  up  from 
the  other. 

"  Sixteen  and  a  half?  And  I  took  them  over  from 
you  at  twenty-eight.  Sixteen  and  a  half?  " 

"  Well,  are  you  taking?  "  said  Rainsford. 

"  Dead  off,"  returned  the  other. 
56 


KING  SCRIP. 

"What  do  you  say,  you  fellows?"  cut  in  the  first 
who  had  spoken.  "  A  little  '  smile '  of  something 
before  lunch  won't  do  us  any  harm.  Eh?  what  do 
you  say?  " 

"/a,  that's  so.  Come  along,"  sung  out  the  tall  man, 
spinning  round  upon  one  heel  and  heading  for  the 
Exchange  bar. 

"  There's  nothing  like  an  Angostura  to  give  one 
an  appetite,"  said  the  dark  man  to  Laurence  as  they 
walked  along.  "  It  gives  tone  to  the  system.  An- 
gostura— with  a  little  drop  of  gin  in  it." 

"  With  a  little  drop  of  gin  in  it?  "  repeated  Wheeler, 
with  a  derisive  roar.  "  That's  where  the  tone  to  the 
system  comes  in — eh,  Rankin?" 

"Only  just  out  from  home,  are  you?"  said  the 
latter  to  Laurence  as,  having  named  their  respective 
*'  poisons,"  the  original  four,  with  two  or  three  others 
who  had  joined  them  en  route,  stood  absorbing  the 
same.  "Heavens!  did  you  ever  hear  such  a  row  in 
your  life?"  he  went  on,  as  through  the  open  door 
connecting  with  the  Exchange  came  the  frantic  bawl- 
ing of  brokers,  competing  wildly  for  Blazesfonteins, 
and  Verneuk  Laagtes,  and  Hellpoorts,  and  Vulture's 
Vleis,  and  Madeiras,  and  Marshes,  and  up  and  down 
the  whole  gamut.  And  there  in  the  crowd  lining  the 
bar,  and  in  the  crowd  outside  the  Exchange,  and  in 
the  crowd  upon  Market  Square,  where  the  auctioneers 
stood,  well-nigh  elbow  to  elbow,  bellowing  from  their 
tubs,  and  where  you  might  bid  for  anything  from  a 
building  stand  or  a  pair  of  horses  to  a  concertina  or  a 
pair  of  stays — everywhere  the  talk  was  the  same,  and 
it  was  of  scrip.  King  Scrip  ruled  the  roost. 

57 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

Just  then,  however,  the  subjects  of  King  Scrip  were 
undergoing  rather  an  anxious  time,  for  the  drought 
was  becoming  serious.  Dams  being  empty,  batteries 
could  not  work;  result,  scrip  drawing  within  alarming 
distance  of  touching  its  own  value — paper,  to  wit. 
And  as  the  dams  became  more  empty,  those  with  an 
"  n "  appended  became  more  and  more  full — yea, 
exceeding  full-bodied,  and  both  loud  and  deep.  In 
the  churches  they  were  praying  for  rain, — praying 
hard, — for  rain  meant  money;  and  in  the  bars  they 
were  "  cussing  "  for  lack  of  it, — "  cussing  "  hard, — on 
the  same  principle.  Then  the  rain  came,  and  in  the 
churches  they  sang  "  Te  Deum  " ;  and  in  the  bars  they 
drove  a  humming  trade  in  champagne,  where  "  John 
Walker "  had  been  good  enough  before.  Up  went 
scrip,  and  Laurence  Stanninghame,  having  judiciously 
invested  his  little  all,  cleared  about  three  hundred 
pounds  in  as  many  days.  Things  began  to  look 
rosy. 

By  this  time,  too,  Laurence  got  sick  of  hanging 
around  the  Exchange  and  talking  scrip.  He  had  no 
turn  that  way,  wherefore  now  he  was  glad  enough  to 
leave  his  affairs  in  the  hands  of  Rainsford,  who,  being 
an  inhabitant  of  Johannesburg,  was,  of  course,  a 
broker;  and,  having  picked  up  a  very  decent  No.  12 
bore  on  one  of  the  open-air  sales  aforesaid,  laid  him- 
self out  to  see  what  sport  was  obtainable  in  the  sur- 
rounding country.  This  was  not  much,  but  it 
involved  many  a  hard  and  long  tramp ;  and  the  Trans- 
vaal atmosphere  is  brisk  and  exhilarating,  with  the 
result  that  eye  and  brain  grew  clearer,  and  his  condi- 
tion became  as  hard  as  nails.  And  as  there  is  nothing 

58 


KING  SCRIP. 

like  a  thoroughly  healthy  condition  of  body,  combined 
with  an  equally  healthy  mental  state, — in  this  instance 
the  elation  produced  by  an  intensely  longed-for  meas- 
ure of  success, — Laurence  began  to  realize  a  certain 
pleasure  in  living,  a  sensation  to  which  he  had  been  a 
stranger  for  many  a  long  year,  and  which,  assuredly, 
he  had  never  expected  to  experience  again. 

For  the  market  still  continued  to  hum,  and  by  dint 
of  judicious  investments  and  quick  turnings  over, 
Laurence  had  more  than  doubled  the  original  amount 
he  had  put  in.  At  this  rate  the  moderate  wealth  to 
which  he  aspired  would  soon  be  his. 

And  now,  with  the  ball  of  success  apparently  at  his 
feet,  so  unsatisfying,  so  ironical  are  the  conditions  of 
life,  that  he  was  conscious  of  a  something  to  damp 
the  anticipatory  delights  of  that  success.  Those  long, 
solitary  tramps  over  the  veldt  after  scant  coveys  of 
partridge,  or  the  stealthy  stalk  of  wild  duck  at  some 
vlei,  were  very  conducive  to  introspection ;  that  wealth 
which  he  imagined  within  his  grasp  did  not  now  look 
so  all-in-all  sufficing,  and  yet  he  had  deemed  it  the 
end  and  all-in-all  of  life.  Even  with  his  past  experi- 
ence— the  depressing,  deteriorating  effects,  mental 
and  physical,  of  years  of  poverty  in  its  most  squalid 
and  depressing  form,  "  shabby-genteel  "  poverty — he 
realized  that  even  the  possession  of  wealth  might 
leave  something  to  be  desired.  In  fact,  he  became 
conscious  of  an  unsatisfied  longing,  by  no  means 
vague,  but  very  real,  which  came  to  him  at  his  time 
of  life  with  a  sort  of  dismayed  surprise.  He  would 
give  up  these  solitary  wanderings  in  search  of  sport. 
The  sport  was  of  a  poor  description,  and  the  intervals 

59 


THE  SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

between  were  too  long.  He  had  too  much  time  to 
think.  He  would  knock  around  the  town  a  little  for 
a  change,  and  talk  to  fellows. 

One  morning  he  was  walking  down  the  street  with 
Rainsford  and  Wheeler, — the  latter,  who  was  an  up- 
country  hunter,  busy,  in  pursuance  of  the  prevailing 
spirit,  in  trying  to  trade  him  sundry  pairs  of  big  game, 
horns,  and  other  trophies, — when  he  heard  his  name 
called  in  a  very  well  remembered  voice.  Turning,  he 
beheld  Holmes. 

"  Stanninghame,  old  chap,  I  am  glad  to  run  against 
you  again !  "  cried  the  latter,  advancing  upon  him 
with  outstretched  hand. 

"  I  begin  to  believe  you  are,"  answered  Laurence 
genially,  with  a  comical  glance  at  the  other's  beaming 
countenance.  "  Why,  you  actually  have  a  look  that 
way.  When  did  you  get  here?  " 

"  By  last  night's  coach.  And,  I  say," — trying  to 
look  wondrously  mysterious  and  knowing, — "  who  do 
you  think  travelled  up  by  it  too?  " 

"  I  can't  even  venture  the  feeblest  guess." 

"Can't  you?"  chuckled  Holmes.  "What  about 
Miss  Ormskirk,  eh?  How's  that?" 

"  So?  Now  I  remember,  she  did  say  something 
about  a  possibility  of  coming  up  here  before  long," 
replied  Laurence  equably,  while  conscious  that  the 
announcement  had  convulsed  his  inner  being  with  a 
strange,  sweet  thrill.  For  it  came  so  aptly  upon  his 
meditations  of  late.  The  one  unsatisfied  longing — 
her  presence.  And  now  even  that  was  to  be  fulfilled. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  take  it  over  enthusiastically, 
Stanninghame,"  went  on  Holmes.  "  And  you  and 

60 


KING  SCRIP. 

she  were  rather  thick  towards  the  end  of  the  voyage," 
he  added  mischievously. 

"  Did  you  ever  know  me  enthuse  about  anything, 
Holmes?  But  it's  about  lunch  time;  let's  go  and 
get  some,  and  you  can  tell  me  what  you  have  been 
doing  since  we  landed  from  the  old  Persian,  and  what 
the  deuce  has  brought  you  up  here." 

This  was  all  very  friendly  and  plausible;  but  before 
they  had  been  seated  many  minutes  at  lunch  in  a 
conveniently  adjacent  restaurant  Holmes  was  dis- 
coursing singularly  little  upon  his  doings  spread  over 
the  weeks  which  had  elapsed  since  he  had  landed, 
but  most  volubly  upon  his  recent  coach  journey  con- 
gested within  a  space  of  three  days — to  which  topic 
he  was  tactfully  moved  by  his  audience  of  one  and 
also  by  his  own  inclination,  as  will  hereinafter  appear. 

"  Was  Miss  Ormskirk  travelling  alone,  did  you  say, 
Holmes?"  queried  Laurence,  in  initiation  of  his  deft 
scheme  for  "  drawing  "  the  other. 

"  Not  much.  There  was  a  big  parchment-faced 
Johnny  with  her.  He  scowled  at  me  like  sin  when 
we  were  introduced — was  inclined  to  be  beastly  rude 
in  fact,  until  he  saw  that  I — er — that  I — talked  most 
to  the  other;  then  he  got  quite  affable." 

"  To  the  other?  What  other?  Out  with  it,  Holmes," 
said  Laurence,  with  a  half  smile  at  his  friend's  thinly 
veiled  embarrassment. 

"  Oh,  there  was  another  girl  in  the  crowd — Miss 
Falkner — deuced  pretty  girl,  too.  The  sulky  chappie 
was  her  brother." 

"Whose  brother?  Miss  Ormskirk's?"  said  Lau- 
rence innocently. 

61 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

"  No;  the  blue-eyed  one's.  At  least  they  both 
called  him  George." 

"  Yes.  I  remember  they  came  on  board  the  Per- 
sian. You  had  landed  already,  I  think.  From  your 
description  I  recognize  them.  So  they  are  up  here? 
Where  are  they  staying?  " 

"  At  that  outlying  place  where  the  coach  first  begins 
to  get  among  houses.  I  can't  remember  the  name. 
There's  a  biggish  pub,  you  know,  and  a  lot  of  houses." 

"  Booyseus?" 

"  That  was  it;  Booyseus.  They  asked  me  to  go 
and  see  them.  You'd  better  come  along  too,  Stan- 
ninghame.  I  say,  d'  you  think  it  'd  be  too  soon  if  we 
went  to-morrow,  eh?  Sort  of  excuse  to  ask  if  they'd 
recovered  from  the  journey — eh?" 

"  Was  George  so  very  exhausted  then?  " 

"Oh,  hang  your  chaff,  Stanninghame!  What  do 
you  think?  You're  an  older  chap  than  I  am,  and 
know  more  about  these  things.  Would  it  be  too  soon 
if  we  went  to-morrow?" 

"  Be  comforted,  Holmes.  As  far  as  it  rests  with 
me,  you  shall  behold  your  forget-me-not-eyed  charmer 
to-morrow  if  she's  at  home." 

The  conversation  worked  round  to  the  inevitable 
topic,  King  Scrip.  Holmes  was  fired  with  eagerness 
when  in  his  unenthusiastic  way  the  other  began  to 
tell  of  such  successes  as  he  had  already  scored.  For 
he,  too,  had  come  up  there  to  take  advantage  of  the 
boom.  He  was  eager  to  rush  out  there  and  then  to 
buy  shares.  Nothing  would  satisfy  him  but  that 
Laurence  must  take  him  round  and  introduce  him  to 
Rainsford  on  the  spot. 

62 


KING  SCRIP. 

But  on  the  way  to  that  worthy's  office  something 
happened.  Turning  into  Commissioner  Street,  they 
ran  right  into  a  party  of  four.  Result — exclamations 
of  astonishment,  of  recognition,  greetings  from  both 
sides. 

Three  of  the  quartette  we  have  already  made  the 
acquaintance  of.  The  fourth,  Mrs.  Falkner,  a  good- 
looking  middle-aged  lady,  was  the  aunt  of  the  other 
three,  and  with  her  they  were  staying. 

"  I've  heard  of  you,  Mr.  Stanninghame,"  said  this 
one,  when  introductions  had  been  effected.  "  I  hope 
you  have  made  a  success  of  Johannesburg  so  far. 
Everybody  turns  up  here.  I  can  hardly  come  up  to 
the  camp — we  used  to  call  it  that  in  the  old  days.  I 
was  among  the  first  up  here,  you  know,  and  it's  diffi- 
cult to  get  into  the  way  of  calling  it  the  town — I  can 
hardly  come  up  here,  I  was  saying,  without  meeting 
some  one  or  other  I  had  known  elsewhere." 

"  Yes,  it's  an  astonishing  place,  Mrs.  Falkner," 
answered  Laurence.  "  Only  bare  veldt  but  a  very 
few  years  ago,  now  a  population  of  forty  thousand — 
mostly  brokers." 

She  laughed,  and  Lilith  cut  in: 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  adopt  the  Carlylean 
definition  of  the  people  of  England,  Mr.  Stanning- 
hame." 

"  Oh,  that  '11  come  in  time.  I  only  trust  I  may  not 
hold  on  too  long  to  come  under  its  lash." 

"  Let  us  hope  none  of  us  will,"  said  Mrs.  Falkner. 
"  Oh,  dear,  we  are  all  dreadfully  reckless,  I  fear.  We 
are  nothing  but  gamblers  up  here.  Have  you  caught 
the  contagion  too,  Mr.  Stanninghame?  " 

63 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

"  I'm  afraid  so,"  he  answered,  thinking  how,  even 
among  the  softer  sex  here,  King  Scrip  bore  the  prin- 
cipal sway. 

He  was  thinking  of  something  else  at  the  same 
time.  Lilith  was  looking  even  more  sweet,  more 
bewitchingly  attractive  than  when  last  he  had  seen 
her.  There  was  a  warm  seductive  glow  of  health  in 
her  dark  brilliant  beauty,  a  winsomeness  in  her 
simple,  tasteful  attire — the  cool  easy-fitting  blouse 
and  skirt  in  a  soft  harmony  of  cream  colour  and  light 
gray,  and  the  plain,  wide-brimmed  straw  hat  of  the 
"  sailor  "  kind — which  made,  to  his  eyes,  an  irresistibly 
entrancing  picture. 

She,  no  less  than  himself,  was  comparing  notes — as 
two  people  will  who  have  been  apart  for  a  space,  and 
have  thought  much  of  each  other  in  the  interim.  He, 
too,  was  improved  in  appearance.  The  fine  climate, 
the  open-air  life  had  lent  a  deeper  bronze  to  his  face 
and  a  clearness  to  his  eyes — even  as  an  emancipation 
from  sordid  cares,  together  with  a  present  modicum 
of  success  and  a  prospect  of  further  in  the  future,  had 
imparted  a  certain  stamp  of  serenity  to  his  expression 
which  was  not  there  before.  "  Air,  freedom,  life's 
healthier  side  are  good — success  is  good — all  good 
things  are  good — behold  their  result,"  was  Lilith's 
inner  verdict  as  the  summing  up  of  this  inspection. 

Now  George  Falkner's  efforts  at  cordiality  were 
about  as  effective  as  the  demeanour  of  a  crusty  mas- 
tiff encountering  another  of  his  kind  well  within  sweep 
of  his  owner's  lash.  His  jealous  soul  had  noted  the 
glance  exchanged  between  his  cousin  and  Laurence 
Stanninghame — the  responsive  glance  which  for  a 

64 


KING  SCRIP. 

brief  second  would  not  be  disguised;  the  great  and 
deep-reaching  gladness,  which  shone  in  both  pairs  of 
eyes  as  a  result  of  this  meeting.  He  stood  gloomy 
and  grim,  while  the  two  were  talking  together,  and 
then  rather  brusquely — and  to  the  disgust  of  Holmes, 
who  was  discoursing  eagerly  with  pretty  Mabel  Falk- 
ner — he  reminded  his  aunt  that  they  were  due  to  call 
at  So-and-So's,  and  were  far  behind  their  time. 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  was  forgetting.  Well,  good-bye,  Mr. 
Stanninghame.  I  hope  you  will  come  and  see  us. 
It  is  nothing  of  a  walk  out  to  Booyseus,  and  besides, 
there  are  several  omnibuses  in  the  course  of  the  day. 
Mind  you  come  too,  Mr.  Holmes.  Good-bye." 

And  the  four  resumed  their  way,  and  so  did  our  two. 

"  Jolly,  genial  old  party  that  Mrs.  Falkner,"  pro- 
nounced Holmes,  half  turning,  slyly,  to  sneak  a  last 
glance  after  the  blue-eyed  and  receding  Mabel. 

"  Spare  my  susceptibilities,  Holmes,  even  in  your 
exuberance.  That  '  old  party/  as  you  so  unfeelingly 
define  her,  cannot  own  to  more  than  two  or  three 
years  seniority  over  my  respectable  self — four  at  the 
outside,"  said  Laurence  maliciously. 

"  Oh,  go  along  with  you,  old  chap,"  retorted 
Holmes,  yet  conscious  of  feeling  just  a  trifle  foolish. 
"  But,  I  say,"  eagerly,  "  can  we  still  go  and  look  them 
up  so  soon  as  to-morrow,  eh?  " 

"  Don't  let  that  misgiving  interfere  with  your 
beauty  sleep,  Holmes,"  was  the  reply,  dashed  with 
a  touch  of  good-humoured  impatience.  "  People  are 
not  so  beastly  ceremonious  over  here." 

"  I've  brought  you  another  sheep  to  shear,  Rains- 
fix 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

ford,"  said  Laurence,  as  they  entered  the  broker's 
office.  "  Don't  clip  him  any  closer  than  you  did  me, 
though  he's  dying  to  set  up  as  a  millionaire  on  the 
spot." 

And  then,  having  effected  this  introduction,  he  left 
the  pair  to  do  business  or  not,  as  the  case  might  be, 
and  strolled  back  to  his  own  quarters. 

What  was  this  marvellous  metamorphosis  which 
had  come  upon  him,  flooding  his  life  with  golden 
waves  of  sweetness  and  of  light?  Now  that  he  had 
beheld  Lilith  once  more,  he  realized  what  entire  hold 
she  had  taken  of  his  thoughts  since  they  two  had 
parted  on  the  deck  of  the  Persian.  It  was  a  certainty 
there  was  no  getting  away  from — but  a  certainty  now 
which  he  was  not  in  the  least  desirous  of  getting  away 
from.  He  had  beheld  her  once  more.  Their  meet- 
ing had  been  of  the  briefest,  their  interchange  of  re- 
marks of  the  most  commonplace,  every-day  nature. 
Yet  he  had  beheld  her,  had  listened  to  the  sound  of 
her  voice,  had  looked  into  her  eyes.  And  the  glance 
of  those  sweet  eyes  had  been  responsive;  and  his  ear 
could  detect  a  subtile  note  in  the  tones  of  her  voice. 
Sweet  Lilith!  the  spells  she  had  begun  to  wreathe 
around  him,  so  unconsciously  to  herself,  so  uncon- 
sciously to  him,  when  first  they  talked  together,  were 
drawn,  woven,  more  thoroughly  now.  And  in  his 
strange,  new  revivification — the  return  of  strength 
and  health  and  spirits — he  rejoiced  that  it  was  so,  and 
laughed,  and  defied  circumstances,  and  Fate  and  the 
Future. 


66 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  PIRATE  "    HAZON. 

IF  the  population  of  Johannesburg  devoted  its  days 
to  doing  konza  to  King  Scrip,  it  devoted  its  nights 
to  amusing  itself.  There  was  an  enterprising 
theatrical  company  and  a  lively  circus.  There  was 
a  menagerie,  where  an  exceedingly  fine  young  woman 
was  wont  nightly  to  place  her  head  within  a  lion's 
mouth  for  the  delectation,  and  to  the  enthusiastic 
admiration  of  Judaea,  and  all  the  region  round  about. 
There  were  smoking-concerts  galore — more  or  less 
good  of  their  kind — and,  failing  sporadic  forms  of 
pastime,  there  were  numerous  bars — and  barmaids, 
all  of  which  counted  for  something  in  the  relaxation 
of  the  forty  thousand  inhabitants  of  Johannesburg — 
mostly  brokers.  We  are  forgetting.  There  were 
other  phases  of  nocturnal  excitement,  more  or  less 
of  a  stimulating  nature — frequent  rows,  to  wit,  cul- 
minating in  a  nasty  rough-and-tumble,  and  now  and 
then  a  startling  and  barbarous  murder. 

Now,  to  Laurence  Stanninghame  not  any  of  the 
above  forms  of  diversion  held  out  the  slightest 
possible  attractiveness.  The  theatrical  show  struck 
him  as  third-rate,  and  as  for  circuses  and  menageries, 
he  supposed  they  had  been  good  fun  when  he  was  a 
child.  He  did  not  care  twopence  about  the.  pleasures 
of  the  bar  unless  he  wanted  a  drink,  and  for  bar- 

67 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

maids  and  their  allurements  less  than  nothing.  So 
having  already,  with  Rainsford  or  Wheeler,  and  seven 
other  spirits  more  wicked  than  themselves,  gone  the 
round  three  or  four  times,  just  to  see  what  there  was 
to  be  seen,  and  found  that  not  much,  he  had  sub- 
sided into  a  good  bit  of  a  stay-at-home.  A  pipe,  a 
newspaper  or  book,  and  bed,  would  be  his  evening 
program — normally,  that  is;  for  now  and  then  he 
would  stroll  out  to  Booyseus.  But  of  that  more  anon. 

The  hotel  at  which  he  had  taken  up  his  quarters 
was  rather  a  quiet  one,  and  frequented  by  quiet 
people.  One  set  of  rooms,  among  which  was  his, 
opened  upon  a  stocp,  which  fronted  a  yard,  which 
opened  upon  the  street.  Here  of  an  evening  he 
would  drag  a  chair  out  upon  the  stoep  and  smoke 
and  read,  or  occasionally  chat  with  some  fellow- 
sojourner  in  the  house. 

One  evening  he  was  seated  thus  alone.  Holmes, 
who  had  taken  up  his  quarters  at  the  same  hotel,  was 
out,  as  usual.  We  say  as  usual  because  Holmes 
seldom  stayed  in  at  night.  Holmes  was  young, 
and  for  him  the  "  attractions "  we  have  striven  to 
enumerate  above,  and  others  which  we  have  not, 
were  attractions.  He  liked  to  go  the  round.  He 
liked  to  see  all  there  was  to  be  seen.  Well,  he 
saw  it. 

One  evening  Laurence,  seated  thus  alone,  became 
aware  that  another  man  was  dragging  a  chair  out 
upon  the  stoep,  intending,  like  himself,  to  take  the 
air.  Looking  up,  he  saw  that  it  was  the  man  to 
whom  nobody  ever  seemed  to  talk,  beyond  ex- 
changing the  time  of  day,  and  that  in  the  most 

68 


"PIRATE"   HAZON. 

curt  and  perfunctory  fashion.  He  had  noticed, 
further,  that  this  individual  seemed  no  more  anxious 
to  converse  with  other  people  than  they  were  to 
converse  with  him.  He  himself  had  never  got 
beyond  this  stage  with  him,  although  on  easy  and 
friendly  terms  with  the  other  people  staying  in  the 
house. 

Yet  the  man  had  awakened  in  him  a  strange 
interest,  a  curiosity  that  was  almost  acute;  but 
beyond  the  fact  that  his  name  was  Hazon,  and  the 
darkly  veiled  hints  on  the  part  of  those  who  alluded 
to  the  subject,  that  he  was  a  ruffian  of  the  deepest 
dye,  Laurence  could  learn  nothing  about  him.  He 
noted,  however,  that  if  the  man  seemed  disliked,  he 
seemed  about  equally  feared. 

This  Hazon  was,  in  truth,  somewhat  of  a  remark- 
able individual.  He  was  of  powerful  build,  standing 
about  five  feet  nine.  He  had  a  strong,  good-looking 
face,  the  lower  part  hidden  in  a  dark  beard,  and 
his  eyes  were  black,  piercing,  and  rather  deep  set. 
The  bronze  hue  of  his  complexion,  and  of  the  sinewy 
hands,  seemed  to  tell  of  a  life  of  hardness  and 
adventure;  and  the  square  jaw  and  straight,  piercing 
glance  was  that  of  a  man  who,  when  roused, 
would  prove  a  resolute,  relentless,  and  a  most  danger- 
ous enemy.  In  repose  the  face  wore  a  placidity 
which  was  almost  that  of  melancholy. 

In  trying  to  estimate  his  years,  Laurence  owned 
himself  puzzled  again  and  again.  He  might  be  about 
his  own  age  or  he  might  be  a  great  deal  older,  that 
is,  anything  from  forty  to  sixty.  But  whatever  his 
age,  whatever  his  past,  the  man  was  always  the  same, 

69 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

dark,  self-possessed,  coldly  reticent,  inscrutable,  some- 
what of  an  awe-inspiring  personality. 

The  nature  of  his  business,  too,  was  no  more  open 
than  was  his  past  history.  He  had  been  some  months 
in  his  present  quarters,  yet  was  not  known  to  be 
doing  anything  in  scrip  to  any  appreciable  extent. 
The  boom,  the  one  engrossing  idea  in  the  minds  of 
all  alike,  seemed  to  hold  no  fascination  for  Hazon. 
To  him  it  was  a  matter  of  absolutely  no  importance. 
What  the  deuce,  then,  was  he  there  for?  His  im- 
penetrable reserve,  his  out-of-the-common  and  strik- 
ing personality,  his  rather  sinister  expression,  had 
earned  for  him  a  nick-name.  He  was  known  all  over 
the  Rand  as  "  Pirate "  Hazon,  or  more  commonly 
"  The  Pirate,"  because,  declared  the  Rand,  he  looked 
like  one,  and  at  any  rate  ought  to  be  hanged  for  one, 
to  make  sure. 

Nobody,  however,  cared  to  use  the  epithet  within 
his  hearing.  People  were  afraid  of  him.  One  day 
in  the  street  a  tough,  swaggering  bully,  fearless  in  the 
consciousness  of  his  powers  as  a  first-class  boxer, 
lurched  up  against  him,  deliberately,  and  with  offensive 
intent.  Those  who  witnessed  the  act  stood  by  for  the 
phase  of  excitement  dearest  of  all  to  their  hearts,  a 
row.  There  was  that  in  Hazon's  look  which  told 
they  were  not  to  be  disappointed. 

"English  manners?"  he  queried,  in  cutting,  con- 
temptuous tone. 

"  I'll  teach  you  some,"  rejoined  the  fellow  promptly. 
And  without  more  ado  he  dashed  out  a  terrific  left- 
hander, which  the  other  just  escaped  receiving  full  in 
the  eye,  but  not  entirely  as  to  the  cheekbone. 

70 


"PIRATE"   HAZON. 

Hazon  did  not  hit  back,  but  what  followed  amazed 
even  the  bystanders.  It  was  like  the  spring  of  an 
animal — of  a  leopard  or  a  bull-dog — combining  the 
lightning  swiftness  of  the  one  with  the  grim,  fell 
ferocity  of  purpose  of  the  other.  The  powerful  rowdy 
was  lying  upon  his  back  in  the  red  dust,  swinging 
flail-like  blows  into  empty  air,  and  upon  him,  in 
leopard-like  crouch,  -pressing  him  to  the  earth, 
the  man  whom  he  had  so  wantonly  attacked.  And 
his  throat  was  compressed  in  those  brown,  lean, 
muscular  fingers,  as  in  a  claw  of  steel.  It  was  horri- 
ble. His  eyes  were  starting  from  his  head;  his  face 
grew  blue,  then  black;  his  swollen  tongue  protruded 
hideously.  His  struggles  were  terrific,  yet,  powerful 
of  frame  as  he  was,  he  seemed  like  a  child  in  the  grasp 
of  a  panther. 

A  shout  of  dismay,  of  warning,  broke  from  the 
spectators,  some  of  whom  sprang  forward  to  separate 
the  pair.  But  there  was  something  so  awful  in  the 
expression  of  Hazon's  countenance,  in  the  glare  of 
the  coal-black  eyes,  in  the  drawn-in  brows  and  livid 
horror  of  fiendish  wrath,  that  even  they  stopped  short. 
It  was,  as  they  said  afterwards,  as  though  they 
had  looked  into  the  blasting  countenance  of  'a 
devil. 

"  Leave  go!  "  they  cried.  "  For  God's  sake,  leave 
go!  You're  killing  the  man.  He'll  be  dead  in  a 
second  longer." 

Hazon  relaxed  his  grasp,  and  stood  upright. 
Beyond  a  slight  heaving  of  the  chest  attendant  upon 
his  exertion,  he  seemed  as  cool  and  collected  as 
though  nothing  had  happened. 

71 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

"  I  believe  you're  right,"  he  said,  turning  away. 
"  Well,  he  isn't  that  yet." 

The  attention  of  the  onlookers  was  concentrated 
on  the  prostrate  bully,  to  restore  whom  a  doctor  was 
promptly  sent  for  from  the  most  likely  bar,  for  it 
was  midday.  But  all  were  constrained  to  allow  that 
the  fellow  had  only  got  what  he  deserved,  which  con- 
census of  opinion  may  or  may  not  have  been  due  to 
the  fact  that  he  was,  if  anything,  a  trifle  more  unpopu- 
lar than  Hazon  himself. 

Now  among  those  who  had  witnessed  this  scene 
from  first  to  last  was  Laurence  Stanninghame.  Not 
among  those  who  would  have  interfered — oh,  no — for 
did  he  not  hold  it  a  primary  tenet  never,  on  any  pre- 
text, to  interfere  in  what  did  not  concern  him?  nor  did 
this  principle  in  those  days  involve  any  effort  to 
keep,  all  impulse  to  violate  it  being  long  since  dead. 
Moreover,  if  the  last  held  good  of  the  badly  damaged 
bully,  society  at  large  could  not  but  be  the  gainer, 
since  it  was  clear  that  he  was  a  fit  representative  of 
a  class  which  is  utterly  destitute  of  any  redeeming 
point  which  should  go  to  justify  its  unspeakably 
vicious,  useless,  and  rather  dangerous  existence. 

This  incident,  while  enhancing  the  respect  in  which 
Hazon  was  held,  in  no  sense  tended  to  lessen  his  un- 
popularity, and  indeed  at  that  time  nobody  had  a  good 
word  to  say  for  him.  Either  they  said  nothing,  and 
looked  the  more,  or  they  said  a  word  that  was  not 
good — oh,  no,  not  good. 

Now  in  spite  of  all  such  ill  repute,  possibly  by 
reason  of  it,  his  temperament  being  what  it  was, 
Laurence  felt  drawn  towards  this  mysterious  person- 

72 


"PIRATE"   HAZON. 

age,  for  he  was  pre-eminently  one  given  to  forming 
his  own  judgment  instead  of  accepting  it  ready  made 
from  Dick,  Tom,  and  Harry.  If  Hazon  was  vin- 
dictive, why,  so  was  he;  if  unscrupulous,  so  could 
he  be  if  driven  to  it.  He  resolved  to  find  an  oppor- 
tunity of  cultivating  the  man,  and  if  he  could  not 
find  one  he  would  make  it.  Now  he  saw  such  an 
opportunity. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this  rumor  that  the  revolu- 
tion in  Brazil  is  going  to  knock  out  our  share 
market?  "  he  said,  suddenly  looking  up  from  the  paper 
he  was  reading. 

"  It  may  do  that,"  answered  Hazon.  "  This  year's 
boom  has  been  a  mere  sick  attempt  at  one.  Wouldn't 
take  much  to  knock  out  what  little  there  is  of  it." 

Laurence  felt  a  cold  qualm.  There  had  been  an 
ominous  drop  the  last  day  or  two.  Still  Rainsford 
and  one  or  two  others  had  recommended  him  to  hold 
on.  This  man  spoke  so  quietly,  yet  withal  so  pro- 
phetically. What  if  he,  in  his  inscrutable  way,  were 
more  than  ordinarily  in  the  know? 

"  Queer  place  this,"  pursued  Hazon,  the  other  hav- 
ing uttered  a  dubious  affirmative.  "  Taking  it  all 
round,  it  and  its  crowd,  it's  not  far  from  the  queerest 
place  I've  ever  seen  in  my  life,  and  I've  seen  some 
queer  places  and  some  queerish  crowds." 

"  I  expect  you  have.  By  the  way,  I  suppose  you've 
done  a  good  deal  of  up-country  hunting?  " 

"A  goodish  deal.  Are  you  fond  of  the  gun?  I 
notice  you  go  out  pretty  often,  but  there's  nothing  to 
shoot  around  here." 

"  I  just  am  fond  of  it,"  replied  Laurence.  "  If 
73 


THE    SIGN    OF   THE   SPIDER. 

things  turn  out  all  right  I  shall  cut  in  with  some 
fellow  for  an  up-country  trip  if  I  can.  Big  game 
this  time." 

The  other  smiled  darkly,  enigmatically. 

"  Yes.  That's  real— real,"  he  said.  "  Try  some  of 
this,"  handing  his  tobacco  bag,  as  Laurence  began  to 
scratch  out  his  empty  pipe,  "  unless,  that  is,  you 
haven't  got  over  the  new-comer's  prejudice  against 
the  best  tobacco  in  the  world,  the  name  whereof  is 
Transvaal." 

"  Thanks.  No,  I  have  no  prejudice  against  it.  On 
the  contrary,  as  to  its  merits  I  am  disposed  to  agree 
with  you." 

Throughout  this  conversation  Laurence,  who  had 
a  keen  ear  for  that  sort  of  thing,  could  not  help 
noticing  the  other's  voice.  It  was  a  pleasing  voice, 
a  cultured  voice,  and  refined  withal,  nor  could  his 
fastidious  ear  detect  the  faintest  trace  of  provincial- 
ism or  vulgarity  about  it.  The  intonation  was 
perfect.  There  is  nothing  so  quick  to  betray  to  the 
sensitive  ear  any  strain  of  plebeian  descent  as  the 
voice,  and  of  this  no  one  was  more  thoroughly  aware 
than  Laurence  Stanninghame.  This  man,  he  decided, 
was  of  good  birth. 

The  ice  broken,  they  talked  on,  in  the  apparently 
careless,  but  in  reality  guarded  way  which  had  become 
second  nature  to  both  of  them.  More  than  one 
strange  and  very  shady  anecdote  was  Hazon  able 
to  narrate  concerning  the  place  and  its  inhabitants, 
and  especially  concerning  certain  among  the  latter 
who  ranked  high  for  morality,  commercially  or 
otherwise.  There  were  actions  done  in  their  midst 

74 


"PIRATE"    HAZON. 

every  day,  he  declared,  which,  for  barefaced  and  un- 
scrupulous rascality,  would  put  to  the  blush  other 
actions  for  which  the  law  would  hang  a  man  without 
mercy,  all  other  men  applauding,  but  with  this 
difference,  that  whereas  the  former  demanded  a 
creeping  and  crawling  cowardliness  to  insure  success, 
the  latter  involved  iron  nerve  and  the  well-nigh  daily 
shaking  hands  with  death — death,  too,  in  many  an 
appalling  and  ghastly  form.  All  of  which  was  "  dark  " 
talking  as  far  as  Laurence  was  concerned,  though 
the  day  was  to  come  when  its  meaning  should  stand 
forth  as  clear  as  a  printed  page. 

Even  now,  however,  he  was  not  absolutely  mysti- 
fied— far  from  it,  indeed;  for  he  himself  was  a  hard 
thinker,  owning  an  ever-vivid  and  busy  brain.  He 
could  put  half  a  dozen  meanings  to  any  one  or  other 
of  his  companion's  utterances,  and  among  them  prob- 
ably the  right  one.  And,  as  they  talked  on,  he 
became  alive  to  something  almost  magnetic — a  sort 
of  subtile,  compelling  force — about  Hazon.  Was  it  his 
voice  or  manner  or  general  aspect,  or  a  combination 
of  all  three?  He  could  not  tell.  He  could  only 
realize  that  it  existed. 

For  some  days  after  this  conversation  the  two  men 
did  not  come  together,  though  they  would  nod  the 
time  of  day  to  each  other  as  before,  and  Laurence, 
who  had  other  considerations  upon  his  hands — mone- 
tary and  agreeable — did  not  give  the  matter  a  thought. 
At  last  he  noticed  that  Hazon's  place  at  the  table  was 
vacant — remembering,  too,  that  it  had  been  so  for  a 
day  or  two.  Had  he  left? 

To  his  inquiries  on  that  head  he  obtained  scant 
75 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

and  uncordial  response.  Hazon  was  ill,  some  be- 
lieved, while  others  charitably  opined  that  he  was 
"  on  the  booze."  Whatever  it  was  no  one  cared,  and 
strongly  recommended  Laurence  to  do  likewise. 

The  latter,  we  have  shown,  was  peculiarly  unsus- 
ceptible to  public  opinion,  which,  if  it  influenced  him 
at  all,  did  so  in  the  very  opposite  direction  to  that 
which  was  intended.  Accordingly,  he  now  made  up 
his  mind  to  ascertain  the  truth  for  himself — to  which 
end  he  found  himself  speedily  knocking  at  the  door 
of  Hazon's  room,  the  while  marvelling  at  his  own 
unwonted  perturbation  lest  his  overture  should  be 
regarded  as  an  intrusion. 

"  Heard  you  were  ill,"  he  said  shortly,  having 
entered  in  obedience  to  the  responsive  "Come  in." 
"  Rough  luck  being  ill  in  a  place  like  this,  or 
indeed  in  any  place,  for  that  matter.  Thought  I'd 
see  if  there's  anything  I  could  do  for  you. " 

"  Very  good  of  you,  Stanninghame.  Sit  down 
there  on  that  box — it's  lower  than  the  chair,  and 
therefore  more  comfortable.  Yes,  I  feel  a  bit  knocked 
out.  A  touch  of  the  old  up-country  shivers,  or  some- 
thing of  the  kind.  It's  a  thing  you  never  entirely 
pull  round  from,  once  you've  had  it.  I'll  be  all  right, 
though,  in  a  day  or  two." 

The  speaker  was  lying  on  his  bed,  clad  in  his 
trousers  and  shirt.  The  latter,  open  from  the  throat, 
revealed  part  of  a  great  livid  scar,  running  diagonally 
across  the  swarthy  chest,  and  representing  what  must 
have  been  a  terrific  slash.  Two  other  scars  also 
showed  on  the  muscular  forearm,  half-way  between 
elbow  and  wrist.  What  was  it  to  Laurence  whether 

76 


"  PIRATE"    HAZON. 

this  person  or  that  person  lived  or  died?  Why, 
nothing.  Yet  there  was  something  so  pathetic,  so 
helpless  in  the  aspect  of  the  man,  lying  there  day 
after  day,  patient,  solitary,  uncomplaining — shunned 
and  avoided  by  those  around — that  appealed  power- 
fully to  his  feelings.  Heavens!  was  he  turning  soft- 
hearted at  his  time  of  life,  that  he  should  feel  so 
unaccountably  stirred  by  the  bare  act  of  coming  to 
visit  this  ailing  and  unbefriended  stranger? 

In  truth,  there  was  nothing  awe-inspiring  about 
the  latter  now.  His  piercing  black  eyes  seemed 
large  and  soft;  the  expression  of  his  dark  face  was 
one  of  weariful  helplessness,  yet  of  schooled  patience. 
A  queer  thought  flashed  through  Laurence's  brain. 
Was  it  in  Hazon's  power  to  produce  whatever  effect 
he  chose  Upon  the  minds  of  others?  Had  he  chosen, 
for  some  inscrutable  purpose,  to  render  himself 
shunned  and  feared?  Was  he  now,  on  like  principle, 
adopting  the  surest  means  to  win  over  to  him  this  one 
man  who  had  sought  him  out  on  his  lonely  sick-bed? 
and  if  so,  to  what  end?  It  was  more  than  a  passing 
thought,  nor  from  that  moment  onward  could  Lau- 
rence ever  get  it  entirely  out  of  his  mind. 

"  Fill  your  pipe,  Stanninghame,"  said  Hazon,  break- 
ing into  this  train  of  thought,  which,  all  unconsciously, 
had  entailed  a  long  gap  of  silence.  "  I  don't  in  the 
least  mind  smoke,  although  I  can't  blow  off  a  cloud 
myself  just  now — at  least  I  have  no  inclination  that 
way,"  he  added,  reaching  for  a  bottle  of  white  powder 
which  stood  upon  a  box  by  the  bedside,  and  mixing 
himself  a  modicum  of  quinine. 

"  Had  a  doctor  of  any  sort,  Hazon?  " 

77 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

"  What  good  would  that  do — except  to  the  doctor? 
I  know  what's  the  matter  with  me,  and  I  know  exactly 
what  to  do  for  it.  I  don't  want  to  pay  another  fellow 
a  couple  of  guineas  or  so  to  tell  me.  Not  but  what 
doctors  have  their  uses — in  wounds  and  surgery,  for 
instance.  But  I'm  curiously  like  an  animal.  When 
I  get  anything  the  matter  with  me — which  I  don't 
often — I  like  to  creep  away  and  lie  low.  I  like  to 
take  it  alone." 

"  Well,  I'm  built  rather  that  way  myself,  Hazon. 
I  won't  apologize  for  intruding,  because  you  know  as 
well  as  I  do  that  no  such  consideration  enters  into  the 
matter.  Still,  I  want  you  to  know  that  if  there's  any- 
thing I  can  do  for  you,  you  have  only  to  say  so." 

"  Thanks.  You  are  not  quite  like — other  people, 
Stanninghame.  Life  is  no  great  thing,  s  it,  that 
everybody  should  stir  up  such  a  mighty  fuss  about 
clearing  out  of  it?  " 

"  No,  it's  no  great  thing,"  assented  Laurence 
darkly.  "  Yet  it  might  be  made  so." 

"How  that?" 

"  With  wealth.  With  wealth  you  can  do  anything 
— command  anything — buy  anything.  They  say  that 
wealth  won't  purchase  life,  but  very  often  it  will." 

"  You're  about  three  parts  right.  It  will,  for  in- 
stance, enable  a  man  to  lead  the  life  he  needs  in  order 
to  preserve  his  physical  and  mental  vigour  at  its 
highest.  Even  from  the  moralist's  point  of  view  it  is 
all  round  desirable,  for  nothing  is  so  morally  deterio- 
rating as  a  life  of  narrow  and  cramped  pinching,  when 
all  one's  best  years  are  spent  in  hungering  and  long- 
ing for  what  one  will  never  again  attain." 

78 


"PIRATE"    HAZON. 

"  You  speak  like  a  book,  Hazon,"  said  Laurence, 
not  wondering  that  the  other  should  have  sized  up  his 
own  case  so  exhaustively — not  wondering,  because  he 
was  an  observer  of  human  nature  and  a  character- 
reader  himself.  Then,  bitterly,  "  Yet  that  pumpkin- 
pated  entity,  the  ponderous  moralist,  would  contend 
that  the  lack  of  all  that  made  life  worth  living  was  good 
as  a  stimulus  to  urge  to  exertion,  and  all  the  hollow 
old  clap-trap." 

"  Quite  so.  But  how  many  attain  to  the  reward — 
the  end  of  the  said  exertion?  Not  one  in  a  hundred. 
And  then,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  how  does  that  one 
do  it?  By  fraud,  and  thieving,  and  over-reaching, 
and  sycophancy — in  short,  by  running  through  the 
whole  gamut  of  the  scale  of  rascality — rascality  of 
the  meaner  kind,  mark  you.  Then  when  this  winner 
in  the  battle  of  life  comes  out  top,  the  world 
crowns  him  with  fat  and  fulsome  eulogy,  and  falls 
down  and  worships  his  cheque-book,  crying,  '  Behold 
a  self-made  man ;  go  thou  and  do  likewise ! ' '' 

"  You've  not  merely  hit  the  right  nail  on  the  head, 
Hazon,  but  you've  driven  it  right  home,"  said  Lau- 
rence decisively,  recognizing  that  here  was  a  man 
after  his  own  heart. 

Two  or  three  days  went  by  before  Hazon  felt  able 
or  inclined  to  leave  his  bed,  and  a  good  part  of  each 
was  spent  by  Laurence  sitting  in  the  sick  man's  room 
and  talking.  And  it  may  have  been  that  the  lonely 
man  felt  cheered  by  the  companionship  and  the 
friendliness  that  proffered  it,  what  time  all  others 
held  aloof;  or  that  the  two  were  akin  in  ideas,  or  both; 

79 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

but  henceforward  a  sort  of  intimacy  struck  up 
between  them,  and  it  was  noticed  that  Hazon  no 
longer  went  about  invariably  alone.  Then  people 
began  to  look  somewhat  queerly  at  Laurence. 

"  You  and  *  the  Pirate '  have  become  quite  thick 
together,  Stanninghame,"  said  Rainsford  one  day, 
meeting  him  alone. 

"  Well,  why  not? "  answered  Laurence,  rather 
shortly,  resenting  the  inquisitional  nature  of  the 
question.  Then  point  blank,  "  See  here,  Rainsford. 
Why  are  you  all  so  down  on  the  man?  What  has  he 
done,  anyway?  " 

"  You  needn't  get  your  shirt  out,  old  chap,"  was  the 
answer,  quite  good-humouredly.  "  Look  here,  now — 
we  are  alone  together — so  just  between  ourselves. 
Do  you  notice  how  all  of  these  up-country  going  fel- 
lows shunt  him — Wheeler,  for  instance?  and  Garway, 
who  is  at  your  hotel,  never  speaks  to  him.  And 
Garway,  you'll  admit,  is  as  good  a  fellow  as  ever 
lived." 

"  Yes,  I'll  own  up  to  that.     What  then?  " 

"  Only  this,  that  they  know  a  good  deal  that  we 
don't." 

"Well,  what  do  they  know — or  say  they  know?" 

"  Look  here,  Stanninghame,"  said  Rainsford,  rather 
mysteriously,  "  has  Hazon  ever  told  you  any  of  his 
up-country  experiences?  " 

"  A  few— yes." 

"  Did  he  ever  suggest  you  should  take  a  trip  with 
him?" 

"  We  have  even  discussed  that  possibility." 

"Ah !  "  Then  Rainsford  gave  a  long  whistle, 

80 


-PIRATE"   HAZON. 

and  his  voice  became  impressive  as  he  resumed: 
"  Watch  it,  Stanninghame.  From  time  to  time  other 
men  have  gone  up  country  with  Hazon,  but — not  one 
of  them  has  ever  returned." 

"  Oh,  that's  what  you're  all  down  on  him  about, 
is  it? " 

The  other  nodded;  then,  with  a  "so-long,"  he  cut 
across  the  street  and  disappeared  into  an  office  where 
he  had  business. 


81 


CHAPTER  VII. 


No  more  foolish  passion  was  ever  implanted  in 
the  human  breast  than  that  of  jealousy — unless  it  were 
that  of  which  it  is  the  direct  outcome — nor  is  there 
any  which  the  average  human  is  less  potent  to  resist. 
The  victim  of  either,  or  both,  is  for  the  time  being 
outside  reason. 

Now  the  first-mentioned  form  of  disease  is,  to  the 
philosophical  mind,  of  all  others  the  most  essentially 
foolish — indeed,  we  can  hardly  call  to  mind  any  other 
so  thoroughly  calculated  to  turn  the  average  well- 
constructed  man  or  woman  into  an  exuberantly 
incurable  idiot.  For  what  does  it  amount  to  when 
we  come  to  pan  it  out?  If  there  exist  grounds  for 
the  misgiving,  why  then  it  is  going  begging — 
grovelling  for  something  which  the  other  party  has 
not  got  to  give;  if  groundless,  is  it  not  a  fulfilling  of 
the  homely  old  saw  relating  to  cutting  off  one's  nose 
to  spite  one's  face?  (We  disclaim  any  intent  to  pun.) 
In  either  case  it  is  such  a  full  and  whole-souled  giv- 
ing of  himself,  or  herself,  away  on  the  part  of  the 
patient;  while  on  that  of  its  object — is  he,  or  she, 
worth  it? 

Now,  from  a  very  acute  form  of  this  insanity 
George  Falkner  was  a  chronic  sufferer.  He  had 


"THE  WHOLE  SOUL  PRISONER." 

cherished  a  secret  weakness  for  Lilith,  almost  when 
she  was  yet  in  short  frocks,  but  since  her  return  from 
England,  from  the  moment  he  had  once  more  set 
eyes  upon  her  on  the  deck  of  the  Persian,  he  had 
tumbled  madly,  uncontrollably,  headlong  in  love. 
Did  a  member  of  the  opposite  sex  so  much  as  ex- 
change commonplaces  with  her,  George  Falkner's 
personality  would  contrive  to  loom,  grim  and  dark, 
and  almost  threatening,  in  the  background  ;  while 
such  male  animal  who  should  enjoy  the  pleasure  of 
say  an  hour  of  Lilith's  society  a  deux,  even  with  no 
more  flirtatious  or  ultimate  intent  than  the  same 
period  spent  in  the  society  of  his  grandmother,  would 
inspire  in  George  a  fell  murderousness,  which  was 
nothing  short  of  a  reversion  to  first  principles.  As 
for  Lilith  herself,  she  was  fond  of  him,  very,  in  a 
sisterly,  cousinly  way — and  what  way,  indeed,  could 
be  more  fatal  to  that  by  which  he  desired  to  travel? 
Nor  did  it  mend  matters  any  that  their  mutual 
relatives  were  the  reverse  of  favourable  to  his  aspira- 
tions, on  the  ground  of  the  near  relationship  existing 
between  the  parties.  So,  poor  George,  seeing  no 
light,  became  morose  and  quarrelsome,  and  wholly 
and  violently  unreasonable — in  short,  a  bore.  All 
of  which  was  a  pity,  because,  this  weakness  apart,  he 
was,  on  the  whole,  rather  a  good  fellow. 

He  had  come  to  the  Rand,  like  everybody  else,  to 
wait  for  the  boom — which  boom,  like  the  chariots  of 
Israel,  though  totally  unlike  the  children  of  the  same, 
tarried  long  in  coming;  indeed,  by  that  time  there 
were  not  wanting  those  who  feared  that  it  might  not 
come  at  all.  He  had  pleaded  with  his  aunt  to  invite 

83 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

Lilith  at  the  same  time,  artfully  putting  it  that  the 
opportunity  of  his  escort  was  too  good  to  be  missed; 
and  Mrs.  Falkner,  with  whom  he  was  a  prime  favour- 
ite, although  she  did  not  approve  his  aspirations, 
weakly  agreed.  And  so  here  they  were  beneath  the 
same  roof,  with  the  addition  of  his  second  sister,  the 
blue-eyed  Mabel,  whose  acquaintance  we  have  already 
made. 

The  latter,  in  her  soft,  fair-haired,  pink  and  roses 
style,  was  a  very  pretty  girl.  She,  for  her  part,  could 
count  "  coup  "  to  a  creditable  extent,  and  among  the 
latest  scalps  which  she  had  hung  to  her  dainty 
twenty-inch  girdle  was  that  of  our  friend  Holmes. 

This — idiot,  we  were  going  to  say,  looked  back 
upon  that  deadly,  monotonous,  starved,  dusty,  flea- 
bitten  coach-ride  of  three  days  and  two  nights  as  a 
species  of  Elysium,  and  in  the  result  was  perennially 
importuning  Laurence  to  take  a  stroll  down  to 
Booyseus,  "  Just  for  a  constitutional,  you  know." 
And  the  latter  would  laugh,  and  good-naturedly  ac- 
quiesce. It  was  a  cheap  way  of  setting  up  a  character 
for  amiability,  he  would  say  to  himself  satirically;  for 
as  yet  Holmes  hardly  suspected  he  was  almost  as 
powerfully  drawn  thither  as  Holmes  was  himself — 
more  powerfully,  perhaps — only,  with  the  advantage 
of  years  and  experience  and  cooler  brain,  he  had  him- 
self more  in  hand. 

"  Instead  of  making  a  prize  gooseberry  of  me, 
Holmes,  as  a  very  appropriate  item  against  the  '  silly ' 
season,"  he  said  one  day,  "  you  had  much  better  go 
over  by  yourself.  You  are  getting  into  Falkner's 
black  books.  He  hates  me  like  poison,  you  know." 

84 


"THE   WHOLE   SOUL   PRISONER." 

"  But  that's  just  why  I  want  you  along,  Stanning- 
hame.  While  he's  trying  to  stand  you  off  in  the 
other  quarter,  I'm  in  it,  don't  you  see?  "  replied  the 
other,  with  whole-hearted  ingenuousness. 

Holmes  had  stated  no  more  than  the  truth.  Of 
all  the  "  rivals,"  real  or  imaginary,  whom  the  jealous 
George  hated  and  feared,  qua  rival,  none  could  touch 
Laurence  Stanninghame.  For  by  this  time  it  had 
become  patent  to  his  watchful  eyes  that  among  the 
swarms  of  visitors  of  the  male,  and  therefore,  to  him, 
obnoxious  sex,  at  whose  coming  Lilith's  glance  would 
brighten,  and  with  whom  she  would  converse  with  a 
kind  of  affectionate  confidentiality  when  others  were 
present,  and  apparently  even  more  so  when  others 
were  not,  that  objectionable  personage  was  the  said 
Laurence  Stanninghame. 

This  being  the  case,  it  followed  that  George 
Falkner,  looking  out  on  the  stoep  one  fine  afternoon, 
and  descrying  the  approach  of  his  bugbear,  stifled  a 
bad  cuss-word  or  two,  and  then  exploded  aloud  in 
more  approved  and  passworthy  fashion. 

"  There's  that  bounder  coming  here  again." 

"  '  Bounder '  being  Dutch  for  somebody  you  detest 
— eh,  George?"  said  Lilith  sweetly. 

"  Confound  it !  That  everlasting  trying  to  be 
sharp  is  one  of  the  most  deadly  things  a  man  has 
to  put  up  with.  It's  catching — eh,  Lilith?  "  was  the 
sneering  retort. 

"  But  who  is  it?  "  said  Mrs.  Falkner,  who  was  short- 
sighted, or  affected  to  be. 

"  Oh,  the  great  god,  Stanninghame,  of  course,  and 
his  pup,  Holmes." 

85 


THE  SIGN   OF  THE  SPIDER. 

Now  the  ill-conditioned  George  had  stirred  up  a 
hornet's  nest,  for  his  sister  took  up  the  parable. 

"  Well,  there  are  lessons  to  be  learned  even  from 
'  pups/ "  said  Mabel  scathingly.  "  They  are  not 
always  growling,  at  any  rate." 

"  Oh,  you're  on  the  would-be  smart  lay,  too? 
Didn't  I  say  it  was  catching?  "  he  jeered. 

"  Yes,  and  you  say  a  great  many  things  that  are 
supremely  foolish,"  retorted  Mabel,  turning  up  her 
tip-tilted  nose  a  little  more,  in  fine  scorn. 

"  Well,  I'm  off  to  the  camp,"  said  George,  with  a 
sort  of  snarl,  reaching  for  a  hat.  "  Clearly,  I'm  not 
wanted  here." 

"  You're  not,  if  you're  going  to  do  nothing  but 
make  yourself  fiendishly  disagreeable,"  rejoined  his 
sister,  pertly  pitiless.  In  reality  she  was  very  fond 
of  him,  and  he  of  her,  but  he  had  trampled  on  a 
tender  place;  for  she  liked  Holmes. 

George  banged  on  his  hat,  strode  angrily  to  the 
door,  and — got  no  farther.  He  did  not  see  why  he 
should  leave  the  field  clear  to  all  comers,  even  if  he 
were  out  of  the  running  himself;  a  line  of  irreso- 
luteness  which  affords  an  excellent  exemplifica- 
tion of  the  remarks  wherewith  we  have  opened  this 
chapter. 

By  all  but  George,  who  was  excusably  undemon- 
strative, the  two  new  arrivals  were  greeted  with 
customary  cordiality. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Stanninghame,  it  seems  quite  a  long 
time  since  we  saw  you  last,"  said  Mrs.  Falkner,  as 
they  were  all  seated  out  on  the  stoep.  "  What  have 
you  been  doing  with  yourself?  " 

86 


"THE   WHOLE   SOUL   PRISONER." 

"  The  usual  thing — studying  the  share  market,  and 
— talking  about  it." 

"  And  is  the  outlook  still  as  bad  as  it  was?  " 

"  Worse.     However,  we  must  hope  it  '11  go  better." 

"  I  hear  that  you  and  that  queer  man,  Mr.  Hazon, 
have  become  such  friends,  Mr.  Stanninghame." 

This  was  the  sort  of  remark  with  which  Laurence 
had  scant  patience,  the  more  so  that  it  met  him  at 
every  turn.  What  concern  was  it  of  the  Rand 
collectively  who  he  chose  to  be  friendly  with,  that 
every  third  person  he  met  should  rap  out  such  kind 
of  comment? 

"  Oh,  we  get  along  all  right,  Mrs.  Falkner,"  he 
answered.  "  But  then  I  have  a  special  faculty  for 
hitting  it  off  with  unpopular  persons — possibly  a  kind 
of  fellow-feeling.  Besides,  accepting  ready-made 
judgments  concerning  other  people  does  not  com- 
mend itself  to  my  mind  on  any  score  of  logic  or 
sound  sense.  It  is  just  a  trifle  less  insane  than  taking 
up  other  people's  quarrels,  but  only  just." 

"  I  dare  say  you're  right;  only  it  is  difficult  for  most 
of  us  to  be  so  consistently,  so  faultlessly  logical.  No 
doubt  most  of  the  things  they  say  about  him  are  not 
true." 

"  But  what  are  most  of  the  things  they  say,  Mrs. 
Falkner?  Now  I,  for  my  part,  never  can  get  any- 
body to  say  anything.  They  will  hint  unutterables 
and  look  unutterables,  but  when  it  comes  to  saying — 
no,  thank  you,  they  are  not  taking  any." 

"  But  he  is  such  a  very  mysterious  personage.  Not 
a  soul  here  knows  anything  about  him — about  his 
affairs,  I  mean — and  who  he  is." 

87 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

"  Perhaps  that  enhances  his  attractiveness  in  my 
eyes,  Mrs.  Falkner.  There  is  prestige  in  the  un- 
known.'* 

"  Not  of  a  good  kind,  as  a  rule,"  she  replied,  and 
then  stopped  short,  for  a  dry  malicious  cough  on  the 
part  of  George  brought  home  to  her  the  consciousness 
that  she  was  putting  her  foot  in  it  pretty  effectively. 
For  the  same  held  good  of  the  man  to  whom  she  was 
talking;  about  Laurence  Stanninghame  and  his  affairs 
not  a  soul  there  knew  anything. 

Not  a  soul?  Yes,  one,  peradventure.  For  between 
himself  and  Lilith  the  interchange  of  ideas  had  been 
plenteous  and  frequent,  and  the  subtile,  sympathetic 
vein  existing  between  them  had  deepened  and  grown 
apace.  About  himself  and  his  affairs  he  had  told  her 
nothing,  yet  it  is  probable  that  he  could  tell  her  but 
little  on  this  head  that  would  be  news  in  any  sense  of 
the  word.  Lilith's  aunt,  however,  who  was  a  good- 
hearted  soul,  without  a  grain  of  malice  in  her  composi- 
tion, felt  supremely  uncomfortable  and  quite  savage 
with  George,  who  was  now  grinning,  sourly  and  sig- 
nificantly. 

None  of  this  by-play  was  lost  upon  Laurence,  but 
he  showed  no  consciousness.  He  knew  that  George 
Falkner  detested  him — detested  him  cordially,  yet  he 
in  no  wise  reciprocated  this  dislike.  He  did  not 
blame  George.  Probably  he  would  have  felt  the 
same  way  himself,  had  he  been  in  George's  place  and 
at  George's  age;  for  the  latter  had  the  advantage  of 
him  on  the  side  of  youth  by  at  least  ten  years.  He 
was  inclined  to  like  him,  and  at  any  rate  was  sorry  for 
him,  perhaps  with  a  dash  of  pity  that  came  near  con- 

88 


"THE   WHOLE   SOUL   PRISONER." 

tempt.  Poor  George  did  give  himself  away  so,  and 
it  was  so  foolish — so  supremely  foolish.  Yet  not  for 
a  moment  did  it  occur  to  Laurence  to  efface  himself 
in  this  connection.  Duty?  Hang  duty!  He  had 
made  a  most  ruinous  muddle  of  his  whole  life  through 
reverencing  that  fetich  word.  Honour?  There  was 
no  breach  of  honour  where  there  was  no  deception, 
no  pretence.  Consideration  for  others?  Who  on 
earth  ever  dreamt  of  considering  him — when  to  do  so 
would  cost  them  anything,  that  is?  Unselfishness? 
Everybody  was  selfish — everything  even.  What  had 
he  ever  gained  by  striving  to  improve  upon  the  uni- 
versal law?  Nothing — nothing  good;  everything 
bad — bad  and  deteriorating — morally  and  physically. 
And  now,  should  he  put  the  goblet  from  his  lips? 
Not  he.  This  strong,  new  wine  of  life  had  rejuven- 
ated him.  Its  rich,  sweet  fumes,  so  far  from  clouding 
his  brain,  had  cleared  it.  It  had  enwrapped  his  heart 
in  a  glow  as  of  re-enkindled  fire,  and  caused  the 
stagnated  blood  to  course  once  more  through  his 
veins,  warm  and  strong  and  free.  His  very  step 
had  gained  an  elasticity,  a  firmness,  to  which  it  had 
long  been  strange.  And  yet  with  all  this,  his  judg- 
ment had  remained  undimmed,  keen,  clear,  subject  to 
no  illusions.  The  logic  of  the  situation  was  rather 
pitiless,  perchance  cruel.  He  was  under  no  sort  of 
illusion  on  that  score.  Well,  let  it  be.  Here  again 
came  in  the  universal  law  of  life,  the  battle  of  the 
strong.  There  was  no  weakness  left  in  him. 

"  For  my  part,  I  like  Hazon,"  cut  in  Holmes  de- 
cisively; "  he  only  wants  knowing.     And  because  he 

89 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

doesn't  let  himself  go  for  the  benefit  of  every  bounder 
on  the  Rand,  they  talk  about  him  as  if  he'd  committed 
no  end  of  murders.  It's  my  belief  that  half  the  fel- 
lows who  abuse  him  are  ten  thousand  times  worse  than 
him,"  he  added,  with  the  robust  partisanship  of  hearty 
youth. 

Further  discussion  of  Hazon  and  his  derelictions, 
real  or  imaginary,  was  cut  short  by  the  arrival  of 
more  visitors,  mostly  of  the  sterner  sex;  for  Mrs. 
Falkner  liked  her  acquaintance  to  drop  in  informally 
— a  predilection  her  acquaintance,  if  young  and 
especially  of  the  harder  sex  aforesaid,  for  obvious 
reasons,  delighted  just  at  present  to  humour.  George, 
however,  in  no  wise  shared  his  aunt's  expansiveness 
in  this  direction,  if  only  that  it  meant  that  Lilith  was 
promptly  surrounded  by  an  adoring  phalanx,  even  as 
on  the  deck  of  the  Persian. 

Now  it  was  voted  cool  enough  for  lawn  tennis — for 
which  distraction,  indeed,  some  of  the  droppers-in 
were  suitably  attired — and  there  was  keen  competition 
for  Lilith  as  a  partner;  and  Holmes,  being  first  in  the 
field,  resolutely  bore  off  Mabel  Falkner  as  his  aux- 
iliary. And  George,  realizing  that  he  was  "  out  of  it  " 
for  some  time  to  come,  perhaps,  too,  taking  a  vague 
comfort  in  the  thought  that  there  is  safety  in  numbers, 
actually  did  proceed  to  carry  out  his  threat,  and 
betook  himself  townwards. 

Laurence  remained  seated  on  the  stoep,  talking  to 
Mrs.  Falkner  and  one  of  the  visitors;  but  all  the 
while,  though  never  absent-minded  or  answering  at 
random,  his  eyes  were  following,  with  a  soothing  and 
restful  sense  of  enjoyment,  every  movement  of  Lilith's 

9° 


"THE   WHOLE   SOUL   PRISONER." 

form — a  very  embodiment  of  grace  and  supple  ease,  he 
pronounced  it.  The  movement  of  the  game  suited  her 
as  it  suited  but  few.  She  never  seemed  to  grow  hot,  or 
flurried,  or  dishevelled,  as  so  many  of  the  fair  are  wont 
to  do  while  engaged  in  that  popular  pastime.  Every 
movement  was  one  of  unstudied,  unconscious  grace. 
In  point  of  hard  fact,  she  played  indifferently ;  but  she 
did  so  in  a  manner  that  was  infinitely  good  to  look  at. 

"  Don't  you  play  at  this,  Mr.  Stanninghame?  "  said 
the  other  visitor,  "  or  have  you  got  a  soul  above  such 
frivolities?" 

"  That  doesn't  exactly  express  it,"  he  answered. 
"  The  truth  is,  I  don't  derive  sufficient  enjoyment  from 
skipping  about  on  one  or  both  legs  at  the  end  of  a 
racket,  making  frantic  attempts  to  stop  a  ball  which 
the  other  side  is  making  equally  frantic  and  fruitless 
efforts  to  drive  at  me  through  a  net.  As  a  dispassion- 
ate observer,  the  essence  of  the  game  seems  to  me  to 
consist  in  sending  the  ball  against  the  net  as  hard 
and  as  frequently  as  practicable." 

At  this  the  visitor  spluttered,  and,  being  of  the 
softer  sex,  declared  that  he  must  be  a  most  dreadful 
cynic;  and  Lilith,  who  was  near  enough  to  hear  his 
remarks,  turned  her  head,  with  a  rippling  flash  of 
mirth  in  her  eyes,  and  said  "Thank  you!"  which 
diversion  indeed  caused  her  to  perform  the  very  feat 
he  had  been  so  whimsically  describing. 

Presently,  growing  tired  of  talking,  he  withdrew 
from  the  others.  It  happened  that  there  was  a  book 
in  the  drawing  room  which  had  caught  his  attention 
during  a  former  visit;  and  now  he  sought  it,  and 
taking  it  up  from  the  table,  stood  there  alone  in  the 

91 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER.  ' 

cool  shaded  room  turning  from  page  to  page,  absorbed 
in  comparing  passages  of  its  contents.  Then  a  light 
step,  a  rustle  of  skirts,  a  lilt  of  song — which  broke  off 
short  as  he  raised  his  eyes.  Lilith  was  passing 
through,  her  tennis  racket  still  in  her  hand.  Slightly 
flushed  with  her  recent  exercise,  she  looked  radiantly 
sweet,  in  her  dark,  brilliant  beauty. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  know  anyone  was  here;  least  of  all, 
you,"  she  said.  "  You  startled  me." 

"Sorceress,  remove  those  unholy  spells;  for  thou 
art  indeed  good  to  look  upon  this  day." 

She  flashed  a  smile  at  him,  throwing  back  her  head 
with  that  slight,  quick  movement  which  constituted 
in  her  a  very  subtile  and  potent  charm. 

"  Flatterer!     Do  you  think  so?     Well,  I  am  glad." 

She  dropped  her  hand  down  upon  his,  as  it  rested  on 
the  table,  with  a  swift,  light,  caressing  pressure,  and 
her  eyes  softened  entrancingly  as  they  looked  up  into 
his.  Then  she  was  gone. 

He  stood  there,  cool,  immovable,  self-possessed, 
outwardly  still  to  all  appearance  intent  upon  the  book 
which  he  held.  But  in  reality  he  saw  it  not.  His 
whole  mental  faculties  were  called  into  play  to  en- 
deavour imagination  to  retain  that  soft,  light  pressure 
upon  his  hand.  His  resources  of  memory  were  con- 
centrated upon  the  picture  of  her  as  she  stood  there 
a  moment  since, — lovely,  smiling,  enchanting, — and 
then  the  sombre  brain-wave,  reminding  of  the  hope- 
lessness, the  mockery  of  life's  inexorable  circumstance, 
would  roll  in  upon  his  mind;  and  heart  would  seem 
tightened,  crushed,  strangled  with  a  pain  that  was 
actually  physical — of  such  acuteness  indeed,  that,  had 

92 


"THE   WHOLE   SOUL   PRISONER." 

that  organ  been  weak,  he  would  be  in  danger  of  fall- 
ing dead  on  the  spot.  And  this  was  a  part  of  the 
penalty  he  had  to  pay  for  his  well-nigh  superhuman 
self-control. 

He  loved  her — this  man  who  loved  nothing  and 
nobody  living,  not  even  himself.  He  loved  her — 
ihis  man  whose  life  was  all  behind  him,  and  whose 
heart  was  of  stone,  and  whose  speech  was  acrid  as 
the  most  corrosive  element  known  to  chemistry. 
But  a  few  "  passes  "  of  sweet  Sorceress  Lilith's  magi- 
cal wand  and  the  stone  heart  had  split  to  fragments, 
pouring  forth,  giving  release  to,  a  warm  well-spring. 
A  well-spring?  A  very  torrent,  deep,  fierce,  strong, 
but  not  irresistible — as  yet.  Still  there  were  mo- 
ments when  to  keep  it  penned  within  its  limits  was 
agony — agony  untold,  superhuman,  well-nigh  unen- 
durable. 

He  loved  her — he  who  was  bound  by  legal  ties 
until  death.  With  all  the  strong  concentrative  might 
of  his  otherwise  hard  nature,  he  loved  her.  The 
dead  dismal  failure  of  the  past,  the  sombre  vistas  of 
the  future,  were  as  nothing  compared  with  such 
moments  as  this.  Yet  none  suspected,  so  marvel- 
lously did  he  hold  himself  in  hand.  Even  the  most 
jealous  of  those  who  saw  them  frequently  together — 
George  Falkner,  for  instance,  and  others — were  blind 
and  unsuspecting.  But — what  of  Lilith  herself? 


93 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

DARK    DAYS. 

THE  share  market  at  Johannesburg  was  rapidly 
going  to  the  deuce. 

Some  there  were  who  ardently  wished  that  Johan- 
nesburg itself  had  gone  thither,  before  they  had  heard 
of  its  unlucky  and  delusive  existence,  and  among  this 
daily  increasing  number  might  now  be  reckoned 
Laurence  Stanninghame.  He,  infected  with  the 
gambler's  fever  of  speculation,  had  not  thought  it 
worth  while  to  "  hedge  " ;  it  was  to  be  all  or  nothing. 
And  now,  as  things  turned  out,  it  was  nothing.  The 
old  story — a  fictitious  market,  bolstered  up  by  ficti- 
tious and  inflated  prices;  a  sudden  "slump,"  and 
then — everybody  with  one  mind  eager  to  dispose  of 
scrip,  barely  worth  the  paper  of  which  it  consisted — 
in  fact,  unsaleable.  King  Scrip  had  landed  his  de- 
voted subjects  in  a  pretty  hole. 

"  You're  not  the  only  one,  Stanninghame — no,  not 
by  a  long,  long  chalk,"  said  Rainsford  ruefully,  as 
they  were  talking  matters  over  one  day.  "  I'm  hard 
hit  myself,  and  I  could  point  you  out  men  here  who 
were  worth  tens  of  thousands  a  month  ago,  and 
couldn't  muster  a  hard  hundred  cash  at  this  moment 
if  their  lives  depended  on  it— worse,  too,  men  whose 
overdraft  is  nearly  as  big  as  their  capital  was  the  same 
time  back." 

94 


DARK  DAYS. 

"  I  suppose  so.  Yet  most  fellows  of  that  kind  are 
adepts  at  the  fine  old  business  quality  of  besting  their 
neighbours,  one  in  which  I  am  totally  lacking,  pos- 
sibly owing  to  want  of  practice.  They  can  go  smash 
and  come  up  smiling,  and  in  a  little  while  be  worth 
more  than  ever.  They  know  how  to  do  it,  you  see, 
and  I  don't.  Smash  for  me  means  smash,  and  that  of 
a  signally  grievous  kind." 

Rainsford  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"  Oh,  bother  it,  Stanninghame,  you're  no  worse  off 
than  the  rest  of  us.  We've  got  to  lie  low  and  hang 
on  for  a  bit,  and  watch  our  chances." 

"  Possibly  you  are  right,  Rainsford.  No  doubt  you 
are.  Still  every  donkey  knows  where  his  own  saddle 
galls  him." 

"  Rather,  old  chap,"  replied  the  other,  whose  hat 
covered  the  total  of  his  liability.  "  The  only  thing 
to  do  is  to  hold  on  tight,  have  a  drink,  and  trust  in 
Providence.  We'll  go  and  have  the  drink." 

They  adjourned  to  a  convenient  bar.  It  was  about 
noon,  and  the  place  was  fairly  full.  Here  they  found 
Holmes  in  the  middle  of  a  crowd,  also  Rankin  and 
Wheeler.  The  consumption  of  "  John  Walker  "  was 
proceeding  at  a  brisk  rate. 

"  Hallo,  Stanninghame,  how  are  you? "  cried  Ran- 
kin ;  "  haven't  seen  you  for  a  long  time.  I  think 
another  *  smile  '  wouldn't  hurt  us,  eh?  What  do  you 
say?  I'm  doing  bitters.  Nothing  like  Angostura — 
with  a  little  drop  of  gin  in  it;  gives  tone  to  the  sys- 
tem. What's  yours?" 

Laurence  named  his,  and  the  genial  Rankin  having 
shouted  for  it  and  other  "  rounds,"  proceeded  to  un- 

95 


THE    SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

fold  some  wondrous  scheme  by  which  he  was  infallibly 
bound  to  retrieve  all  their  fortunes  at  least  cent,  per 
cent.  It  was  only  a  matter  of  a  little  capital.  Any- 
one who  had  the  foresight  to  intrust  him  with  a  few 
hundreds  might  consider  his  fortune  made.  But, 
somehow,  nobody  could  be  found  to  hand  over  those 
few  hundreds.  In  point  of  fact,  nobody  had  got  them. 

"  Here,  Rainsford,"  sung  out  somebody,  "  we  are 
tossing  for  another  '  all  round.'  Won't  your  friend 
cut  in?" 

Laurence  did  cut  in,  and  then  Holmes,  who,  being 
of  genial  disposition,  and  very  hard  hit  too  in  the 
scrip  line,  began  uproariously  to  suggest  a  further 
"  drown  care." 

"  Excuse  me,  eh,  Holmes?  "  said  Laurence.  "  It's 
getting  too  thick,  and  I  don't  think  this  is  a  sort  of 
care  that  '11  bear  drowning.  I'm  off.  So-long,  every- 
body." 

"  Hold  on,  Stanninghame,"  sung  out  Rankin,  who 
was  the  most  hospitable  soul  alive.  "  Come  round  to 
the  house  and  dine  with  us.  I'm  just  going  along. 
We'd  better  do  another  bitters  though,  first.  What 
do  you  say?  " 

But  Laurence  declined  both  hospitalities.  A  very 
dark  mood  was  upon  him — one  which  rendered  the 
idea  of  the  society  of  his  fellows  distasteful  to  the  last 
degree.  So  he  left  the  carousing  crowd,  and  betook 
himself  to  his  quarters. 

Now  the  method  of  drowning  care  as  thus  prac- 
tised commended  itself  to  him  on  no  principle  of 
practical  efficacy.  He  had  care  enough  to  drown, 
Heaven  knew,  but  against  any  temptation  to  fly  to 

96 


DARK  DAYS. 

the  bottle  in  order  to  swamp  it  he  was  proof.  His 
very  cynicism,  selfish,  egotistical  as  it  might  be  in  its 
hard  and  sweeping  ruthlessness,  was  a  safeguard  to 
him  in  this  connection.  That  he,  Laurence  Stanning- 
hame,  to  whom  the  vast  bulk  of  mankind  represented 
a  commingling  of  rogue  and  fool  in  about  equal  pro- 
portion, should  ever  come  to  render  himself  unsteady 
on  his  feet,  and  hardly  responsible  for  the  words  which 
came  from  his  brain,  presented  a  picture  so  unutter- 
ably degraded  and  loathsome,  that  his  mind  recoiled 
from  the  barest  contemplation  of  it. 

Yes,  he  had  care  enough,  in  all  conscience,  that 
day  as  he  walked  back  to  his  quarters;  for  unless  the 
market  took  a  turn  for  the  better,  so  sudden  as  to  be 
almost  miraculous,  the  time  when  he  would  any 
longer  have  a  roof  over  his  head  might  be  counted 
by  weeks.  And  now  every  mail  brought  him  grum- 
bling, querulous  letters  asking  for  money  when  there 
was  none  to  send — bitter  and  contentious  letters,  full 
of  complaint  and  the  raking  up  of  old  sores  and  soul- 
wearying  lamentation;  gibing  reproaches,  too,  to  him 
who  had  beggared  himself  that  these  might  live.  It 
would  have  been  burden  enough  had  it  mattered 
greatly  to  him  whether  anyone  in  the  world  lived  or 
not;  but  here  the  burden  was  tenfold  by  reason  of  its 
utter  lack  of  appreciation,  of  common  gratitude,  of 
consideration  for  the  shoulders  which,  sorely  weighed 
down  and  chafed,  yet  still  supported  it. 

But  if  the  refuge  which  is  the  resort  of  the  weak 
held  out  no  temptation  to  him,  there  was  another 
refuge  of  which  the  exact  opposite  held  ^oocl.  In 
weird  and  gloomy  form  all  the  recollections  and  fail- 

97 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

tires  of  his  past  life  would  rise  up  and  confront  him. 
What  an  unutterable  hash  he  had  made  of  it  and  its 
opportunities!  It  did  not  do  to  run  straight — the 
world  was  not  good  enough  for  it;  so  he  had  found. 
That  for  the  past;  for  the  future — what?  Nothing. 
For  some  there  was  no  future,  and  he  was  one  of 
these.  He  saw  no  light. 

Lying  on  his  bed,  in  the  heat  of  the  early  afternoon, 
he  realized  all  this  for  the  hundredth  time.  The 
temptation  to  end  it  all  was  strong  upon  him. 
Stronger  and  stronger  it  grew,  as  though  shadowy 
demon-shapes  were  hovering  in  the  shaded,  half- 
darkened  room.  It  grew  until  it  was  well-nigh  over- 
mastering. His  eyes  began  to  wander  meaningly 
towards  a  locked  drawer,  and  he  half  rose. 

Against  this  temptation  his  hardened  cynicism  was 
no  safeguard  at  all;  rather  did  it  tend  to  foster  it,  and 
that  by  reason  of  a  corrosive  disgust  with  life  and  the 
conditions  thereof  which  it  engendered  within  him. 
Then,  in  his  half-dreamy  state,  a  sweet  and  softening 
influence  seemed  to  steal  in  upon  his  soul.  He 
thought  he  would  like  to  see  Lilith  Ormskirk  once 
more.  Was  it  foolishness,  weakness?  Not  a  bit. 
Rather  was  it  hard,  matter-of-fact,  logical  philosophy. 
He  had  made  an  unparalleled  hash  of  life.  If  he  were 
going  to  leave  it  now  it  was  sound  logic  to  do  so  with, 
as  it  were,  a  sweet  taste  upon  his  mental  palate. 

Was  it  an  omen  for  good,  an  earnest  of  a  turn  in 
the  wheel  of  ill-luck?  On  reaching  Booyseus  he  was 
so  fortunate  as  to  find  Lilith  not  only  at  home  but 
alone.  Her  face  lighted  up  at  the  sight  of  him. 

98 


DARK  DAYS. 

"  How  sweet  of  you  to  toil  out  here  this  hot  after- 
noon," she  said,  as  he  took  within  his  the  two  hands 
she  had  instinctively  held  out  to  him.  For  a  moment 
he  looked  at  her  without  replying,  contrasting  the 
grim  motive  which  had  brought  him  hither  with  this 
perfect  embodiment  of  youth,  and  health,  and  beauty, 
with  all  of  life,  all  of  the  future  yet  before  her — all  of 
life  with  its  possibilities.  She  was  in  radiant  spirits, 
and  the  hazel  eyes  shone  entrancingly,  and  the  slight 
flush  under  the  dark  warmth  of  the  satin  skin,  caused 
by  the  unaffected  pleasure  inspired  by  his  arrival, 
rendered  even  his  strong  head  a  trifle  unsteady,  as 
though  with  a  rich,  sweet,  overpowering  intoxication. 

"  Well,  the  reward  is  great,"  he  answered,  still  re- 
taining her  hands  in  a  lingering  pressure.  "  Are  you 
all  alone,  child?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  that  pleased  flush  mantling  again, 
the  diminutive  sounding  strangely  sweet  to  her  ears 
as  coming  from  him. 

"  But  you — we  may  not  be  much  longer.  People 
might  drop  in  at  any  moment,  and  I  want  to  be  alone 
with  you  this  afternoon.  I  am  spoiling  for  one  of 
our  long  talks,  so  put  on  a  hat  and  come  for  a  stroll 
across  the  veldt.  Or  is  it  too  hot?  " 

"  You  know  it  is  not,"  she  answered.  "  Now,  I 
won't  be  a  minute." 

She  was  as  good  as  her  word,  for  she  reappeared 
almost  immediately  with  a  hat  and  sunshade,  and 
they  set  forth,  striking  out  over  the  bare  open  veldt 
which  extended  around  and  behind  the  Booyseus 
estate.  The  heat  was  great,  greater  than  most  women 
would  have  cared  to  face,  but  the  blue  cloudlessness 

99 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

of  the  sky,  the  sheeny  glow  of  the  sun  upon  the  free 
open  country  was  so  much  delight  to  Lilith  Orms- 
kirk.  In  her  love  for  all  that  was  bright  and  glowing 
she  was  a  true  daughter  of  the  South. 

"Oh,  Laurence,  how  good  it  is  to  live!"  she  ex- 
claimed, as  they  stepped  out  at  a  brisk  pace  in  the 
glorious  openness  of  the  warm  air.  "  Do  you  know, 
I  feel  at  times  so  bright,  and  well,  and  happy  in  the 
very  joy  and  thankfulness  of  being  alive,  that  it 
almost  brings  tears.  Do  you  understand  the  feeling? 
Tell  me." 

"  I  think  so." 

"  But  did  you  ever  feel  that  way  yourself?  " 

"  Perhaps — in  fact,  I  must  have,  because  I  under- 
stand so  thoroughly  what  you  mean;  but  it  must  have 
been  a  very,  very  long  time  ago." 

His  tone  was  that  of  one  gravely  amused,  indul- 
gently caressing.  Heavens!  he  was  thinking.  The 
contrast  here  was  quite  delicious;  in  fact,  it  was 
unique.  If  only  Lilith  could  have  seen  into  his 
thoughts  at  that  moment,  if  only  she  had  had  the 
faintest  inkling  as  to  their  nature  an  hour  or  so  back. 
Still  something  in  his  look  or  in  his  tone  sobered 
her. 

"  Ah,  Laurence,  forgive  me,"  she  cried.  "  How 
unfeeling  I  am,  throwing  my  light-heartedness  at  you 
in  this  way,  when  things  are  going  so  badly  with 
you/' 

"  Unfeeling?  Why,  child,  I  love  to  see  you  rejoic- 
ing in  the  bright  happiness  of  your  youth  and  glowing 
spirits.  I  would  not  have  you  otherwise  for  all  the 
world." 


100 


DARK  DAYS. 

"  No,  I  ought  not  to  feel  that  way  just  now,  when 
you — when  so  many  all  round  us — are  passing  through 
such  a  dreadfully  anxious  and  critical  time.  Tell  me, 
Laurence,  are  things  brightening  for  you  even  a 
little?"  -  •  , .  ,  , 

"Not  even  a  little;  the  case  is  all  tft e* ;dti?et-  Way. 
But  don't  you  think  about  it,  child.  B<e  happy  -white 
you  can  and  as  long  as  you  can.  It 'is 'the'  ivo'rst 
possible  philosophy  to  afflict  yourself  over  the  woes 
of  other  people." 

Now  the  tears  did  indeed  well  to  Lilith's  eyes,  but 
assuredly  this  time  they  were  not  tears  of  joy  and 
thankfulness.  One  or  two  even  fell. 

"  Don't  sneer,  Laurence.  You  must  keep  the  satire 
and  cynicism  for  all  the  world,  if  you  will,  but  keep 
the  inner  side  of  your  nature  for  me,"  said  she,  and  in 
the  sweet,  pleading  ring  in  her  voice  there  was  no 
lack  of  feeling  now.  "  You  have  had  about  ten  times 
more  than  your  share  of  all  the  dark  and  bitter  side 
of  life.  You  will  not  refuse  my  sympathy — my  deep- 
est, most  heartfelt  sympathy — will  you,  dear?  Ah, 
would  that  it  were  only  of  any  use  at  all !  " 

"  Your  sympathy?  Why,  I  value  and  prize  it  more 
than  anything  else  in  the  world — in  fact  it  is  the  only 
thing  in  the  world  I  do  value.  '  Of  any  use  at  all?' 
It  is  of  some  use — of  incalculable  use,  perhaps." 

A  smile  lit  up  the  clouded  sadness  of  her  face. 

"  If  I  only  thought  that,"  she  said.  "  Still  it's  more 
than  sweet  to  hear  you  say  so.  Tell  me,  Laurence, 
what  was  the  strange  sympathetic  magnetism  that 
existed  between  us  from  the  very  first — yes,  long  be- 
fore we  talked  together?  I  was  conscious  of  it,  if 

101 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

you  were  not — a  sympathy  that  makes  it  easy  for  me 
to  follow  you,  when  you  talk  so  darkly  that  nobody 
else  could." 

"  Oh,  there  is  such  a  sympathy,  then?" 

"  ,Qf  cpurse  there  is,  and  you  know  it." 
0  ^Perhaps:  Tell  me,  Lilith,  do  you  still  cherish 
certain  fusty  and  antiquated  superstitions  which  make 
chat  good  results  and  beneficial  can  never  come  out 
of  abstract  wrong?  Abstract  wrong  being  for  present 
purposes  a  mere  conventionality." 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment.  The  interchange 
of  that  steady  silent  glance  was  sufficient. 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  she  said. 

"  I  thought  not.  Well,  that  being  so,  you  can  per- 
haps realize  of  what  '  use/  as  you  put  it,  that  sweetest 
gift  of  your  deepest,  most  heartfelt  sympathy  may  be 
to  its  object,  and  in  its  results  wholly  beneficial.  Do 
you  follow?  " 

"  Why,  of  course.  And  is  it  really  in  my  power  to 
brighten  life  for  you  ever  so  little?  Ah,  that  would 
be  happiness  indeed." 

"  Continue  to  think  so,  then,  for  it  is  in  your  power 
to  do  just  that,  and  you  are  doing  it  at  this  moment. 
And,  child,  when  you  feel  that  sense  of  boundless 
elation  with  the  joy  of  living,  add  this  to  the  happi- 
ness you  are  feeling,  not  to  lessen  but  to  enhance  it." 

"  I  will  do  that,  Laurence,"  she  said.  "  And  if  the 
consciousness  that  you  have  what  you  say  is  of 
use  to  you,  let  it  be  to  strengthen  you.  Clear-headed, 
strong  as  you  are,  dear,  there  must  come  hours  of 
terrible  gloom,  even  to  you.  Well,  when  such  come 
on,  think  of  our  talk  to-day  and  strive  to  throw  them 

102 


DARK  DAYS. 

off  because  of  it — because  of  the  strengthening  influ- 
ences of  it." 

Thus  she  spoke,  bravely,  but  beneath  her  outwardly 
sweet  serenity  a  hard  battle  was  being  waged.  She 
was  fighting  with  her  innermost  self;  striving  hard 
to  retain  her  self-control.  She  would  not  even  raise 
her  eyes  to  his  lest  she  should  lose  it,  lest  she  should 
betray  herself.  And  all  the  while  the  chords  of  her 
innermost  being  thrilled  and  quivered  with  an  inde- 
scribable tenderness,  taking  words  within  her  mind: 
"  My  Laurence,  my  love,  my  ideal,  what  would  I  not 
do  to  brighten  life  for  you — you  for  whom  life  is  all 
too  hard!  I  would  draw  down  that  life-weary  head 
till  it  rested  on  my  breast;  I  would  wind  my  arms 
round  your  neck  and  whisper  into  your  tired  ear 
words  of  comfort,  and  of  soothing,  and  of  lov^e.  Ah, 
how  I  would  love  you,  care  for  you,  shield  your  ear 
from  ever  being  hurt  by  a  discordant  word!  And  I 
would  draw  your  heart  within  mine  to  rest  there,  and 
would  feel  life  all  too  blissfully,  ineffably  sweet  to 
live." 

His  voice  broke  in  upon  her  meditations,  causing 
her  a  very  perceptible  start,  so  rapt  were  they. 

"  What  is  the  subject  of  your  very  deep  thought, 
my  Lilith?  Are  you  wreathing  some  strange  and 
hitherto  unsuspected  spell,  sorceress?" 

The  tone,  playful,  half  sad,  nearly  upset  her  self- 
control  then  and  there.  Was  it  with  design  that, 
after  the  first  keen  penetrating  gaze,  he  half  averted 
his  glance? 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  poor  company,"  she  said  rather 
lamely.  "  I  must  have  been  silent  quite  a  long  time. 

103 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

I  was  thinking — thinking  out  some  knotty  problem 
which  would  draw  down  your  superior  lordship's 
indulgent  pity,"  with  a  flash  of  all  her  former  bright 
spirits. 

"And  its  nature?" 

"  If  you  will  promise  not  to  sneer  I'll  tell  you. 
You  will?  Well,  then,  I  was  thinking  whether  I 
would  have  that  gold-yellow  dress  done  up  with 
mauve  sleeves  or  black,  for  Wednesday  week." 

Whether  he  believed  her  or  not  it  was  impossible 
to  determine  from  the  demeanour  wherewith  this 
statement  was  received.  She  was  inclined  to  think 
he  did,  which  spoke  volumes  for  his  tactfulness;  and 
is  it  not  of  the  very  essence  of  that  far  too  uncommon 
virtue  to  impress  your  interlocutor  with  the  convic- 
tion that  you  believe  exactly  as  he — or  she — wants 
you  to?  In  point  of  fact,  there  was  something  heroic- 
ally pathetic  in  the  way  in  which  each  mind  strove  to 
veil  from  the  other  its  inner  workings,  while  every 
day  showed  more  and  more  the  impossibility  of  keep- 
ing up  the  figment. 

Yet,  for  all  this,  there  were  times  when  the  posses- 
sion, the  certainty  of  Lilith's — "  sympathy  "  she  had 
called  it,  would  fail  to  cheer,  to  strengthen.  Darker 
and  darker  grew  the  days,  more  hopeless  the  pros- 
pect, and  soon  Laurence  Stanninghame  found  himself 
not  merely  face  to  face  with  poverty,  but  on  the  actual 
verge  of  destitution.  Grim,  fell  spectres  haunted  his 
waking  hours  no  less  than  his  dreams.  Did  he  return 
from  a  few  hours  of  hard  exercise  with  a  fine  appetite, 
that  healthy  possession  served  but  to  remind  him  how 
soon  he  would  be  without  the  means  of  gratifying  it. 

104 


DARK  DAYS. 

He  pictured  himself  utterly  destitute,  and  through 
his  sleeping  visions  would  loom  hideous  spectres  of 
want  and  degradation.  Day  or  night,  waking  or 
sleeping,  it  was  ever  the  same;  the  horror  of  the  posi- 
tion was  ever  before  him  and  would  not  be  laid.  His 
mind  was  a  hell  to  him,  his  heart  of  lead,  his  hard, 
clear  brain  deadly,  self-pitiless  in  its  purpose.  Obvi- 
ously, there  was  no  further  room  in  the  world  for 
such  as  he. 


105 


CHAPTER  IX. 

HIS    GUARDIAN    ANGEL. 

'To  sell  my  immortal  soul,  twenty  times  over,  for  a 
few  thousands  of  the  damnation  stuff;  but  as  that 
article  isn't  negotiable,  why,  better  make  an  end  of 
the  whole  bother." 

Thus  Laurence  to  himself,  though  unconsciously 
aloud.  His  room  was  an  end  one  on  the  stoep,  and 
the  door  was  open.  The  time  was  the  middle  of  the 
morning,  and  he  sat  thinking. 

His  thoughts  were  black  and  bitter — as  how  indeed 
should  they  be  otherwise?  He  had  come  to  this 
place  to  make  one  final  effort  to  retrieve  his  fortunes. 
That  effort  had  failed.  He  had  put  what  little  re- 
mained to  him  into  various  companies — awaiting  the 
boom — and  no  boom  had  ensued.  On  the  contrary, 
things  had  never  looked  more  dead  than  at  this 
moment,  never  since  the  Rand  had  been  opened  up. 
The  bulk  of  the  scrip  owned  by  him  was  now  barely 
saleable  at  any  price;  for  the  residue  he  might  have 
obtained  a  quarter  of  the  price  he  had  paid  for  it.  He 
was  ruined. 

He  was  not  alone  in  this — not  by  a  very  large 
number.  But  what  sort  of  consolation  was  that?  He 
had  received  letters  too  by  the  last  mail.  Money! 
money!  That  was  their  burden.  He  tossed  them 
aside  half  read.  What  mattered  anything?  The 
accursed  luck  which  had  followed  him  throughout 

106 


HIS   GUARDIAN   ANGEL. 

life  had  stuck  to  him  most  consistently — would  do 
so  until  the  end.  The  end?  Ha,  had  not  "  the  end  " 
come?  What  more  was  left?  More  squalor,  more 
deterioration — gradually  dragging  him  down,  down. 
Heaven  knew  what  he  might  come  to,  what  final 
degradation  might  not  be  his.  The  end?  Yes,  better 
let  it  be  the  end — now,  here — while  in  the  full  posses- 
sion of  his  faculties,  in  the  full  possession  of  the  dig- 
nity of  his  self-respect.  The  dead  blank  hopelessness 
of  life!  Better  end  it,  now,  here. 

He  rose  and  went  to  the  open  door.  All  was 
quiet.  The  occupants  of  the  other  rooms  were  away, 
drowning  their  cares  in  liquor  saloons,  or  feverishly 
hanging  around  'Change  to  grasp  at  any  possible 
straw.  He  was  about  to  close  the  door.  No,  it  had 
better  remain  as  it  was.  The  thing  would  look  more 
accidental  that  way. 

He  returned  into  the  room,  and  unlocking  his 
portmanteau,  took  out  a  six-shooter.  It  was  loaded 
in  every  chamber,  for  in  those  days  such  a  companion 
was  not  far  from  a  necessity  in  the  great  restless  gold- 
town.  He  sat  down  at  the  table,  and,  placing  the 
weapon  in  front  of  him,  passed  his  fingers  up  and 
down  the  blue  shiny  metal  in  a  strange,  half-medita- 
tive way.  Then,  grasping  the  butt,  he  placed  the 
muzzle  against  his  forehead. 

The  hard  metal  imprinted  a  cold  ring  just  between 
the  eyes.  He  did  not  flinch  at  the  grisly  contact. 
His  hand  was  as  firm  as  a  rock.  He  must  depress 
the  muzzle  just  a  trifle — it  would  make  more  certain. 
He  began  to  press  the  trigger,  ever  so  faintly,  then 
a  little  more  firmly,  strangely  wondering  how  much 

107 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

more  imperceptible  a  degree  of  pressure  would  be 
required  to  produce  the  roaring,  shattering  shock 
which  should  whirl  him  into  the  dark  night  of  Death. 

Well,  but — afterwards?  Who  knew?  If  it  were 
as  they  taught,  even  then  it  could  be  no  augmenta- 
tion of  the  hopelessness  of  this  life.  Perhaps  they 
might  make  a  devil  of  him,  he  thought,  with  grim 
satisfaction,  as  a  black  wave  of  hatred  towards 
humanity  at  large  surged  through  his  brain.  In  that 
eventuality  his  role  of  tormentor  as  well  as  tormented 
would  be  a  congenial  one. 

The  dark  night  of  death!  What  would  it  matter 
about  money  then,  and  all  the  sordid  and  pitiful 
wretchednesses  entailed  by  the  want  of  it?  A  leap 
in  the  dark!  It  held  all  the  excitement  of  an  un- 
known adventure  to  the  man  who  sat  there,  pressing 
the  muzzle  of  the  deadly  weapon  hard  against  his 
forehead.  The  additional  pressure  of  so  much  as  a 
hair's  weight  upon  that  trigger  now! 

Could  it  be  that  the  man's  guardian  angel  was  with 
him  still,  that  a  saving  presence  really  hovered  about 
him  in  the  prosaic  noonday?  A  strange  chord  seemed 
to  thrill  and  vibrate  within  his  brain,  bringing  before 
his  vision  the  face  of  Lilith  Ormskirk.  There  it  was, 
as  he  had  beheld  it  but  a  few  days  since;  but  now  the 
sweet  eyes  were  troubled,  as  though  clouded  with 
pain  and  bitter  disappointment. 

"  You,  whom  I  thought  so  strong,  are  weak  after 
all!  You,  to  whom  I  loved  to  listen  as  the  very  ideal 
of  a  well-balanced  mind  and  judgment,  are  about  to 
do  what  will  stamp  your  memory  forever  as  that  of 
one  who  was  insane!  Have  I  been  no  more  to  you 

108 


HIS   GUARDIAN   ANGEL. 

than  that — I  who  thought  to  have  brightened  and 
strengthened  your  life  all  that  within  me  lay?  It  can- 
not be!  You  shall  not  do  it." 

He  could  not.  The  voice  thrilled  to  his  hearing, 
as  plainly,  as  articulately  as  it  had  ever  done  when 
she  had  stood  before  him.  He  laid  down  the  weapon, 
and  passed  his  hand  in  a  dazed  sort  of  manner  over 
his  brows.  Laurence  Stanninghame  was  saved. 

He  stared  around,  somewhat  unsteadily,  as  though 
more  than  half  expecting  to  behold  her  there  in  the 
room.  What  did  it  all  mean?  At  any  rate  she  had 
saved  him.  Was  it  for  good  or  for  ill?  Then  the  full 
irony  of  the  position  struck  upon  his  satirical  soul. 
His  mind  went  back  over  his  acquaintance  with  Lilith. 
What  if  his  disillusioning  had  been  a  little  less  com- 
plete? What  if  he  had  fled  the  rich  attractiveness  of 
her  presence,  had  shunned  her  with  heroic  scrupu- 
lousness, acting  from  some  fiddle-faddle  notion  of 
so-called  "  honour  "  ?  Just  this,  he,  Laurence  Stan- 
ninghame, would  at  that  moment  be  lying  a  lifeless 
thing,  with  brains  scattered  all  over  the  room — a 
memory,  a  standing  monument  of  commonplace 
weakness.  But  she  had  saved  him  from  this — had 
saved  him  as  surely  and  completely  as  though  she 
had  struck  the  weapon  from  his  hand.  Was  it  for 
good  or  for  ill? 

He  fell  thinking  again.  Had  he  indeed  played  his 
last  card,  or  did  one  more  solitary  trump  yet  lurk  up 
his  sleeve  unknown  to  himself?  No,  it  could  not  be; 
and  his  thoughts  grew  dark  again.  Yet  he  was  safe 
now — safe  from  himself.  Lilith  had  done  it — her 
influence,  her  love! 

109 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

He  thought  long  and  thought  hard,  but  still  hope- 
lessly. And  again,  unconsciously,  he  broke  out -into 
soliloquy. 

"  Yes,  I'd  sell  my  soul  to  the  devil  himself!  " 

"  Maybe  the  old  man  would  be  dead  off  the  deal. 
Likely  he  reckons  you  a  dead  cert,  already,  Stanning- 
hame." 

Laurence  did  not  start  at  the  voice,  which  was  that 
of  Hazon,  whose  shadow  darkened  the  door.  The 
up-country  man  at  that  moment  especially  noticed 
that  he  did  not. 

"  Dare  say  you're  right,  Hazon,"  was  the  reply. 
"  That's  it,  come  in,"  which  the  other  had  already 

done.  "Talking  out  loud,  was  I?  It's  a  d bad 

habit,  and  grows  on  one." 

"  It  does.  Say,  though,  what  game  were  you  up 
to  with  that  plaything?  "  glancing  meaningly  at  the 
six-shooter  lying  on  the  table. 

"  This?     Oh,  I  thought  likely  it  wanted  cleaning." 

"So?"  and  the  corners  of  Hazon's  saturnine 
mouth  drooped  in  ever  so  faint  a  grin  as  his  keen  eyes 
fixed  themselves  for  a  moment  full  upon  the  other's 
face.  Laurence  had  forgotten  the  tell-tale  imprint 
left  in  the  centre  of  his  forehead  by  the  muzzle. 
"  So?  See  here,  Stanninghame,  don't  be  at  the 
trouble  to  invent  any  more  sick  old  lies,  but  put  the 
thing  away.  It  might  go  off.  Don't  mind  me;  I've 
been  through* the  same  stage  myself." 

"  Have  you?  How  did  it  feel,  eh?  "  said  Laurence, 
with  a  sort  of  weary  imperturbability,  filling  his  pipe 
and  pushing  the  pouch  across  the  table  to  his  friend. 

"  Bad.  Ah,  that's  right!  Instead  of  fooling  about 
no 


HIS   GUARDIAN   ANGEL. 

•  cleaning '  guns  at  such  times,  fill  your  pipe.  That's 
the  right  lay,  depend  upon  it." 

Laurence  made  no  reply,  but  lighting  up,  puffed 
away  in  silence.  His  thoughts  were  wandering  from 
Hazon. 

"  Broke,  eh?  "  queried  the  latter  sententiously. 

"  Stony." 

"  So?    Ah,  I  knew  it  'd  come;  I  knew  it  'd  come." 

This  remark,  redolent  as  it  was  of  that  sort  of  cheap 
prophecy  which  consists  of  being  wise  after  the  event, 
Laurence  did  not  deem  worthy  of  answer. 

"  And  I  was  waiting  for  it  to  come,"  pursued 
Hazon.  "  Say,  now,  why  not  make  a  trip  up  country 
with  me?" 

"  That  sounds  likely,  doesn't  it?  Didn't  I  just  tell 
you  I  was  stony  broke?" 

"  You  did.  The  very  reason  why  I  made  my  pro- 
posal." 

"  Don't  see  it.  If  I  were  to  sell  out  every  rag  of 
my  scrip  now,  I  couldn't  raise  enough  to  pay  my  shot 
towards  the  outfit.  And  I  couldn't  even  render 
service  in  kind,  for  I've  had  no  experience  of  waggons 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  So  where  does  it  come  in?  " 

"  It  does  come  in.  You  can  render  service  in  kind 
— darned  much  so.  I  don't  want  you  to  pay  any  shot 
towards  the  outfit.  See  here,  Stanninghame,  if  you 
go  up  country  with  me  now,  you'll  come  back  a  fairly 
rich  man,  or " 

"Or  what?" 

"  You'll  never  come  back  at  all." 

In  spite  of  his  normal  imperturbability,  Laurence 
was  conscious  of  a  quickening  of  the  pulses,  The 

in 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

suggestion  of  adventure— of  an  adventure  on  a  mag- 
nificent scale,  and  with  magnificent  results  if  success- 
ful, as  conveyed  in  the  other's  reply,  caused  the  blood 
to  surge  hotly  through  his  frame.  He  had  been 
strangely  drawn  towards  this  dark,  reticent,  solitary 
individual,  beneath  whose  quiet  demeanour  lurked 
such  a  suggestion  of  force  and  power,  who  shunned 
the  friendship  of  all  even  as  all  shunned  his,  who  had 
been  moderately  intimate  even  with  none  but  himself. 
This  wonderful  land — the  dim,  mysterious  recesses  of 
its  interior — what  possibilities  did  it  not  hold?  And 
in  groping  into  such  possibilities  this,  above  all  others, 
was  the  comrade  he  would  have  chosen  to  have  at  his 
side.  Not  that  he  had  forgotten  the  words  of  dark 
warning  spoken  by  Rainsford  and  others,  but  at  such 
he  laughed. 

"Are  you  taking  it  on  any?  "  queried  Hazon,  after 
a  pause  of  silence  on  the  part  of  both. 

"  I  am.  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  Hazon,  that  life, 
so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  was  no  great  thing  before." 

"  I  guessed  as  much,"  assented  the  other,  with  a 
nod  of  the  head. 

"  Quite.  Now,  I'm  broke,  stony  broke,  and  it's 
more  than  ever  a  case  of  stealing  away  to  hang  one's 
self  in  a  well.  I  tell  you  squarely,  I'd  walk  into  the 
jaws  of  the  devil  I^mself  to  effect  the  capture  of  the 
oof-bird." 

"  Yes?     How  are  your  nerves,  Stanninghame?  " 

"  Hard — hard  as  nails  now.  That's  not  to  say  they 
have  been  always." 

"  Quite  so.     Ever  seen  a  man's  head  cut  off? " 

"  Two." 

112 


HIS  GUARDIAN   ANGEL. 

"  So?  Where  was  that? "  said  Hazon,  ever  so 
faintly  surprised  at  receiving  an  affirmative  reply. 

"  In  Paris.  A  press  friend  of  mine  had  to  go  and 
see  two  fellows  guillotined,  and  managed  to  work  me 
in  with  him.  We  were  as  close  to  the  machine,  too, 
as  it  was  possible  to  get." 

"  Did  it  make  you  feel  sick  at  all?  " 

"  Not  any.  The  other  Johnny  took  it  pretty  badly, 
though.  I  had  to  fill  him  up  with  cocktails  before  he 
could  eat  any  breakfast." 

"  That's  a  very  good  test.  I  never  expected  you 
to  say  you  had  stood  it.  Well,  you  may  see  a  little 
more  in  that  line  before  we  come  through.  Can't 
make  omelettes  without  breaking  eggs  though,  as  the 
French  say.  Well  now,  Stanninghame,  I've  had  my 
eye  on  you  ever  since  you  came  up  here.  I'm  pretty 
good  at  reading  people,  and  I  read  you.  '  That's  the 
man  for  me,'  I  said  to  myself.  '  He's  come  to  the  end 
of  his  tether.  He's  just  at  that  stage  of  life  when  it's 
kill  or  cure,  and  he  means  kill  or  cure.' ': 

"  Well,  we  had  talked  enough  together  to  let  you 
into  that  much,  eh,  Hazon?"  said  Laurence,  with  a 
laugh  which  was  not  altogether  free  from  a  dash  of 
scepticism. 

"  We  have.  Still,  I'm  not  gassing  when  I  tell  you 
I  knew  all  about  it  before.  How?  you  want  to  ask. 
Because  I've  been  through  it  all  myself.  I  thought, 
1  That  chap  is  throwing  his  last  card ;  if  he  loses,  he's 
my  man.'  And  you  have  lost." 

"  But  what's  the  object  of  the  trip,  Hazon?    Gold?  " 

"  No." 

"Stones?" 

113 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

"  Not  stones." 

"Ivory,  then?" 

"  That's  it;  ivory,"  and  a  gleam  of  saturnine  mirth 
shot  across  the  other's  dark  features. 

"  You  have  to  go  a  good  way  up  for  that  now,  don't 
you,  Hazon?  " 

"  Yes,  a  good  way  up.     And  it's  contraband." 

"The  devil  it  is!" 

Hazon  nodded.  Then  he  went  to  the  door  and 
looked  out. 

"  Leave  it  open.  It's  better  so.  We  can  hear  any 
one  coming,"  he  said,  returning.  "  And  now,  Stan- 
ninghame,  listen  carefully,  and  we'll  talk  out  the 
scheme.  If  you're  on,  well  and  good;  if  you're  dead 
off  it,  why,  I  told  you  I  had  read  you,  and  you're  not 
the  man  to  let  drop  by  word  or  hint  to  a  living  soul 
any  of  what  has  passed  between  us." 

"  Quite  right,  Hazon.  You  never  formed  a  safer 
judgment  in  your  life." 

Then,  for  upwards  of  an  hour,  the  pair  talked 
together;  and  when  the  luncheon  bell  rang,  and 
Laurence  Stanninghame  took  his  seat  at  the  table 
along  with  the  rest,  to  talk  scrip  in  the  scathingly 
despondent  way  in  which  the  darling  topic  was  con- 
versationally dealt  with  in  these  days,  he  was  con- 
scious that  he  had  turned  the  corner  of  a  curious 
psychological  crisis  in  his  life. 

In  the  afternoon  he  took  his  way  down  to  Booyseus. 
Would  he  find  Lilith  in?  It  was  almost  too  much 
good  luck  to  hope  to  find  her  alone.  As  he  walked, 
he  was  filled  with  a  strange  elation.  The  dull  pain 

114 


HIS   GUARDIAN  ANGEL. 

of  a  very  near  parting  was  largely  counteracted  by 
the  manner  of  it.  Such  a  parting  had  been  before  his 
mind  for  long;  but  then  he  would  have  gone  forth 
broken  down,  ruined,  more  utterly  without  hope  in 
life  than  ever.  Now  it  was  different.  He  was  going 
forth  upon  an  adventure  fraught  with  all  manner  of 
stirring  potentialities — one  from  which  he  would  re- 
turn wealthy,  or,  as  his  friend  and  thenceforth  com- 
rade had  said,  one  from  whicfy  he  would  not  return 
at  all. 

Had  his  luck  already  begun  to  turn,  he  thought? 
As  he  mounted  the  stoep  Lilith  herself  came  forth  to 
meet  him.  It  struck  him  that  the  omen  was  a  good 
one. 

"  Why,  you  are  becoming  quite  a  stranger,"  she 
said.  But  the  note  of  gladness  underlying  the  re- 
proach did  not  escape  him,  nor  a  certain  lighting  up 
of  her  face  as  they  clasped  hands,  with  the  subtile 
lingering  pressure  now  never  absent  from  that  out- 
wardly formal  method  of  greeting. 

"Am  I?"  he  answered,  thinking  how  soon,  how 
very  soon,  he  would  become  one  in  reality.  "  But 
you  were  going  out?  "  For  she  had  on  her  hat  and 
gloves,  and  carried  a  sunshade. 

"  I  was.  You  are  only  just  in  time — only  just. 
But  I  won't  now  that  you  have  come." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  want  you  to.  I  want  you  to 
come  out  with  me,  and  at  once,  before  an  irruption  of 
bores  renders  that  manoeuvre  impracticable.  Will 
you?" 

"  Of  course  I  will.  Which  way  shall  we  go?  Up 
to  the  town?" 

"5 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

"  Not  much.  Right  in  the  opposite  direction,  and 
as  far  away  from  it  as  possible.  Are  you  alone?" 

"  Not  quite  alone.  Aunt  is  having  her  afternoon 
sleep;  but  May  and  George  went  to  the  town  this 
morning.  They  intended  to  have  lunch  at  the  Steven- 
sons*,  and  then  go  on  to  the  cricket  ground.  There's 
a  match  or  something  on  to-day.  George  was  cross 
because  I  wouldn't  go  too ;  but  I  had  a  touch  of  head- 
ache, and  went  to  sleap  instead.  And  oh,  Laurence, 
I  had  such  a  horrible  dream.  It  was  about  you." 

"  Oh,  was  it?"  The  words  rapped  themselves  out 
quickly,  nervously,  more  so  than  she  had  ever  heard 
him  talk  before.  But  the  awful  and  ghastly  crisis  of 
the  morning  was  recalled  by  her  words.  "About 
me?  Tell  it  to  me." 

"  I  can't.  It  was  all  rather  vague,  and  y.et  so  real. 
I  dreamed  that  you  were  in  the  face  of  some  strange, 
some  horrible  danger,  against  which  I  was  powerless 
to  warn  you.  I  struggled  to,  even  prayed.  Then  I 
was  able.  I  warned  you,  and  the  danger  seemed  to 
pass.  And  oh,  Laurence,  I  woke  up  crying!" 

"  Your  dream  was  a  true  one,  my  Lilith.  No,  I 
will  not  tell  you  how  or  in  what  way.  And  will  you 
always  be  empowered  to  warn  me — to  save  me,  my 
sweet  guardian  angel?  I  shall  need  it  often  enough 
during  the  next — er — in  the  time  that  is  coming." 

His  face  had  taken  on  an  unwonted  expression, 
and  his  tones  were  suspiciously  husky.  Lilith  looked 
wonderingly  at  him,  and  her  own  expression  was 
grave  and  earnest.  The  sweet  eyes  became  dewy 
with  unshed  tears. 

"  You  know  I  will,  if  I  may,"  she  answered,  steal- 

116 


HIS   GUARDIAN   ANGEL. 

ing  a  hand  into  his  for  a  sympathetic  pressure,  as  they 
walked  side  by  side. 

They  had  been  walking  at  a  good  pace  over  the 
open,  treeless  veldt,  and  the  roofs  of  Booyseus  were 
now  quite  dwarfed  behind  them. 

"  But,  tell  me,"  she  continued,  "  are  things  any 
better?  Oh,  it  is  dreadful  that  you  should  have  come 
all  this  way  only  to  be  more  completely  ruined  than 
before — dreadful!  I  am  always  thinking  about  it. 
Yet  I  am  of  a  hopeful  disposition,  as  I  told  you.  I 
never  despair.  Things  will  take  a  turn.  They  must." 

"  They  have  taken  a  turn,  Lilith,  but  not  in  the 
direction  you  mean.  I  am  going  away." 

She  started.  She  knew  that  those  words  must  one 
day  be  spoken.  Now  that  they  had  been,  they  hurt. 

"Back  to  England?" 

The  words  came  out  breathlessly,  and  with  a  sort 
of  gasp. 

"  No,  not  there.  I  am  going  up  country,  into  the 
interior." 

"Oh!" 

There  was  relief  in  the  ejaculation.  For  the  mo- 
ment she  lost  sight  of  all  that  was  involved  by  such  a 
destination.  They  would  still  be  in  the  same  land. 
That  was  something — or  seemed  so. 

Now  all  the  latent  instincts,  never  half  drawn  forth, 
surged  like  molten  volcano  fires  through  Laurence 
Stanninghame's  soul.  The  dead  and  stormy  nature, 
slain  within  him,  revivified,  burst  forth  into  warm, 
pulsating,  struggling,  rebellious  life.  This  striving  of 
heart  against  heart,  this  desperate  effort  still  to  patch 
up  the  rents  in  the  flimsy  veil,  moved  him  infinitely. 

117 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

The  veldt  on  the  Witwatersrand  is  as  open  and  devoid 
of  cover  as  a  billiard-table.  The  two  were  visible  for 
miles.  But  for  this  he  knew  not  what  he  might  have 
done — rather  he  knew  full  well  what  he  certainly 
would  have  done. 

They  took  refuge  in  practical  topics;  they  talked 
of  the  up-country  trip. 

"  You  are  very  friendly  with  that  Mr.  Hazon,  are 
you  not,  Laurence?  Nobody  else  is,  and  there  are 
strange  stories,  not  told,  but  hinted  about  him.  He 
is  a  man  I  should  be  almost  afraid  of,  and  yet  half 
admire.  He  strikes  me  as  one  who  would  be  a  ter- 
rible and  relentless  enemy,  but  as  true  as  steel,  true 
to  self-sacrificing  point,  to  a  friend." 

"  That's  exactly  my  opinion.  Now,  Hazon  and  I 
suit  each  other  down  to  the  ground.  I  have  an 
especial  faculty,  remember,  for  getting  on  with  un- 
popular individuals." 

Thus  they  talked,  and  at  length  time  forced  them 
to  turn  their  steps  homeward.  And  as  the  sun  rays 
began  to  slant  golden  upon  the  surrounding  veldt,  it 
seemed  to  Laurence  that  even  that  triste  wilderness 
took  on  a  glow  that  was  more  than  of  earth.  How 
that  afternoon,  that  walk,  would  dwell  within  his 
memory,  stamped  there  indelibly!  He  thought  how 
the  day  had  opened,  of  that  gnawing  mental  struggle 
culminating  in — what?  But  for  this  girl  at  his  side 
he  would  now  be — what?  She  had  saved  him,  she 
alone — her  confidence  in  him,  her  high  opinion  of 
him,  and — her  love.  Yes,  her  love.  He  looked  upon 
her  as  she  walked  beside  him,  entrancing  beyond 
words  in  her  rich,  warm  beauty,  a  perfect  dream  of 

118 


HIS  GUARDIAN   ANGEL. 

grace  and  symmetry.  Even  the  hot  sunlight  seemed 
to  linger,  as  with  a  kiss,  upon  the  dark,  brilliant  loveli- 
ness of  her  eyes,  on  the  soft  curve  of  her  lips. 

"  You  are  cruel,  sorceress,"  he  broke  forth.  "  You 
have  made  yourself  look  especially  enchanting  be- 
cause soon  I  shall  see  you  no  more.  You  are  looking 
perfect." 

She  flashed  a  bright  smile  upon  him,  but  it  seemed 
to  fade  into  a  shadow,  as  of  pain. 

"Am  I?  Well,  Laurence,  one  knows  instinctively 
when  one  is  looking  one's  best.  It  would  be  affecta- 
tion to  pretend  otherwise.  And  I  love  to  make 
myself  look  bright  and  sweet  and  attractive  for  you. 
And  now — oh,  dear,  we  are  nearly  home  again. 
Come  in  with  me  now  and  stay  the  evening.  We 
shall  not  be  alone  together  again,  I  fear — this  even- 
ing, I  mean.  But  you  will  be  going  away  so  soon 
now,  and  I  must  see  as  much  of  you  as  I  can." 

He  needed  no  persuasion.  And  as  Lilith  had  said, 
they  were  not  alone  together  again.  But  even  the 
jealous  George,  who  came  back  from  the  town  more 
cantankerous  than  ever  on  learning  of  this  addition, 
found  balm  in  Gilead.  That  brute  Stanninghame 
was  going  away  up-country  soon,  he  put  it.  Heaven 
send  a  convenient  shot  of  malaria  or  a  providential 
assegai  prod  to  keep  him  there  forever! 


119 


CHAPTER  X. 

PREPARATION. 

THE  days  went  by  and  Hazon's  preparations  were 
nearly  completed,  and  it  became  patent  to  the  Rand  at 
large  that  "  The  Pirate  "  intended  to  relieve  that  de- 
lusive locality  of  his  unwelcome  presence;  for  a 
couple  of  waggons  appeared  on  the  scene,  bearing  his 
name,  and  in  charge  of  a  mysterious  native  of 
vast  proportions  and  forbidding  physiognomy,  who 
seemed  not  to  be  indigenous  to  those  parts,  nor,  in- 
deed, to  hail  from  anywhere  around.  And  Hazon,  in 
his  quiet,  thorough  way,  was  very  busy  in  fitting  out 
these  waggons,  loading  them  with  articles  suitable  for 
up-country  trade,  eke  with  munitions  of  sport,  and, 
if  need  be,  war.  Wherein  he  was  ably  assisted  by 
Laurence  Stanninghame. 

On  learning  that  the  latter  was  a  party  to  the 
undertaking,  whatever  it  was,  the  Rand  shrugged  its 
shoulders,  and  whispered;  and  the  burden  of  its 
whispering  consisted  mainly  of  the  ancient  innuendo 
relating  to  those  who  had  heretofore  accompanied 
Hazon  anywhere.  This  one — would  he  not  travel 
the  same  dark  road  as  others  had  done,  whatever  that 
road  might  be?  But  that  was  his  own  lookout,  and 
he  had  been  warned.  And  the  two  men  would  hold 
long  and  earnest  confabs  together;  but  those  which 

120 


PREPARATION. 

were  the  most  earnest  were  held  in  the  course  of  long 
rides  away  into  the  veldt.  Then  they  would  dis- 
mount at  some  sequestered  spot,  where,  secure  from 
all  interruption,  weather-beaten  maps  and  plans  and 
darkly  written  memos.,  also  ciphers,  would  be  pro- 
duced and  long  and  carefully  discussed.  Of  this, 
however,  the  Rand  knew  nothing;  yet  from  such 
Laurence  would  return  feeling  a  trifle  graver,  for  even 
he  had  to  accustom  himself  to  such  a  road  to  wealth 
as  was  here  held  out.  But  his  case  was  desperate. 
He  was  utterly  ruined,  and  to  the  same  extent  reck- 
less. It  was  sink  or  swim,  and  not  his  was  the  mind 
to  elect  to  go  under  when  the  jettison  of  a  last  linger- 
ing scruple  or  two  would  keep  him  afloat.  As  for 
potential — nay,  certain — risk,  that  did  not  enter  into 
his  calculations. 

Now,  while  these  preparations  were  in  progress, 
Holmes  was  going  about  with  a  very  gloomy  counte- 
nance; more  than  hinting,  indeed,  at  a  desire  to  take 
part  in  the  trip.  Finally,  he  put  it  plainly  to  Lau- 
rence himself. 

"  Take  my  advice  and  watch  it,"  the  latter  decisively 
replied.  Then  remembering  that  the  ostensible 
object  of  the  undertaking  was  sport  and  native  trade, 
he  went  on,  "  You  see,  Holmes,  it's  going  to  be  a  hard 
business.  Not  just  three  or  four  months  up  in  the 
bush-veldt  and  so  forth,  but — well,  Heaven  only 
knows  where  the  thing  will  end,  let  alone  how." 

"  I  don't  care  about  that.  Why,  it's  just  the  very 
thing  that  '11  suit  me  down  to  the  ground.  I  say, 
Stanninghame,  I  know  you  don't  mind,  but  Hazon? 
I've  always  stood  up  for  Hazon,  and  we  seem  to  get 

121 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

on  all  right?  Do  put  it  to  Hazon.  I  could  pay  my 
shot,  of  course." 

There  was  a  despondency  of  manner  and  tone  that 
was  extremely  foreign  to  the  mercurial  Holmes,  and 
this,  together  with  certain  signs  he  had  read  of  late, 
caused  Laurence  to  look  up  with  a  queer  half  smile. 

"  Why  are  you  so  anxious  to  clear  from  here, 
Holmes?  Rather  sudden,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  dead  off  waiting  for  a  '  boom '  that  never 
comes.  It's  dashed  sickening,  don't  you  know." 

"  It  is.  And  what  else  is  dashed  sickening?  That 
isn't  all." 

The  other  stared  for  a  moment,  then,  as  though  he 
were  bringing  it  out  with  an  effort,  he  burst  forth: 

"  Oh,  well,  hang  it  all,  Stanninghame,  I  don't  see 
why  I  shouldn't  tell  you.  The  fact  is  I've — I've  got 
the  chuck." 

Laurence  laughed  inwardly.     He  understood. 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  were  bringing  it  on  all  right," 
he  said. 

"  So  did  I ;  but  when  I  put  it  to  her,  she  was  dead 
off,"  said  Holmes,  disconsolately  savage. 

"Sure?" 

"  Cert." 

"  Well,  give  her  another  show.  Some  women — 
girls  especially — like  that  sort  of  application  twice 
over.  They  think  it  enhances  their  value  in  some 
inexplicable  way,"  said  Laurence,  with  a  touch  of 
characteristic  satire.  "  I  don't,  but  that's  a  matter  of 
opinion.  And,  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings, 
Holmes,  but  is  this  one  worth  it? " 

"  I    don't    know,"    answered    the    other    savagely, 

122 


PREPARATION. 

driving  his  heel  into  the  ground.  "  It's  that  beast 
Barstow.  What  the  deuce  she  can  see  in  him,  bangs 
me." 

"  Yes,  unless  it  is  that  you  hold  a  quantity  of  un- 
saleable scrip  and  he  doesn't,"  rejoined  Laurence, 
who  had  been  secretly  amused  in  watching  the  prog- 
ress of  pretty  Mabel  Falkner's  latest  preference. 
"  But  in  any  case  I  think  you'd  better  not  touch  it, 
or  you'll  find  yourself  on  the  one  horn  or  other  of  this 
dilemma ;  if  she  is  coming  the  '  playing  off '  trick, 
why,  that  is  despicable,  and  in  fact  not  good  enough; 
if  she  means  business,  why,  you  can't  go  begging  to 
her  for  what  she  has  given  to  the  other  Johnny  with- 
out any  begging  at  all.  See?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  see,"  was  the  rueful  rejoinder.  "  By 
the  Lord,  Stanninghame,  I  used  to  think  you  a  deuced 
snarling,  cynical  beggar  at  first,  but  now,  'pon  my 
soul,  I  believe  you're  right." 

"  Do  you?  Well,  then,  you  don't  want  to  go 
away  up-country  and  get  bowled  out  with  fever  or 
struck  by  a  nigger,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  because 
one  girl  don't  care  a  cent  for  you." 

"  Perhaps  not.  Still,  I  hate  this  place  now.  I'm 
sick  of  it.  By  the  way,  Stanninghame,  you're  the 
sort  a  fellow  can  tell  anything  to;  you  don't  start  a 
lot  of  cheap  blatant  chaff  as  some  chappies  do  when 
you  want  them  to  talk  sound  sense." 

There  was  a  great  deal  underlying  the  remark,  also 
the  tone.  Though  lacking  the  elements  which  go  to 
make  up  the  "  popular "  man,  Laurence  possessed 
the  faculty  of  winning  the  devoted  attachment  of  indi- 
viduals, and  that  to  an  extent  of  which  he  himself  little 

123 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

dreamed.  Not  the  least  important  item  which  went 
to  make  up  that  attribute  lay  in  the  fact  that  he  was 
a  most  indulgent  listener,  whom  nothing  astonished, 
and  who  could  look  at  all  sides  of  any  given  question 
with  the  tact  and  toleration  of  a  man  who  thinks. 
This  faculty  he  seldom  exercised,  and  then  almost  un- 
consciously. 

To  the  other's  remark  he  made  no  immediate  reply. 
Taking  into  consideration  age  and  temperament,  he 
had.no  belief  that  Holmes'  rejection  and  disappoint- 
ment had  left  any  deep  wound.  Still,  it  had  come 
at  an  unfortunate  time — a  time  when  the  sufferer,  in 
common  with  most  of  them,  had  been  hard  hit  in  a 
more  material  way.  He  had  a  genuine  liking  for  the 
sunny-natured,  open-hearted  youth;  a  •  liking  be- 
gotten, it  might  be,  of  the  ingenuously  unconscious 
manner  in  which  the  latter  looked  up  to  him,  in  fact, 
made  a  sort  of  elder  brother  of  him.  Holmes  was 
no  stronger-headed  than  most  youngsters  of  his 
temperament  and  circumstances,  and  Laurence  did 
not  want  to  see  him — soured  and  dejected  by  disap- 
pointment all  round — throw  himself  in  with  the  reck- 
less, indiscriminate  bar-frequenter,  of  whom  there 
were  not  lacking  woeful  examples  in  those  days, 
though,  poor  fellows,  much  from  the  same  motive,  to 
drown  care;  and  into  this  current  would  Holmes  in 
all  probability  be  swept  if  left  by  himself  in  Johannes- 
burg. Was  there  no  method  of  taking  him  with 
them  for  a  month  or  two's  shoot  in  the  bush-veldt, 
and  sending  him  back  by  some  returning  expedition 
before  the  serious  part  of  the  undertaking  was  entered 
upon?  He  decided  to  sound  Hazon  upon  the  matter, 

124 


PREPARATION. 

yet  of  this  resolve  he  said  nothing  now  to  Holmes. 
The  latter  broke  the  silence. 

"By  Jove,  Stanninghame,  I  envy  you!'  he  said. 
"  You  are  such  a  hard-headed  chap.  Why,  I  don't 

believe  you  care  a  little  d for  any  mortal  thing  in 

the  world.     Yes,  I  envy  you." 

"  You  needn't,  if  it  means  hankering  after  the  pro- 
cess by  which  that  blissful  state  is  attained.  But  you 
are  wrong.  I  care  most  infernally  about  one  thing." 

"And  what's  that?  What  is  it,  old  chap?  You 
needn't  be  afraid  I'll  let  on!"  said  Holmes  eagerly, 
anticipating  it  might  be  something  similar  in  the  way 
of  a  confidence  to  that  which  his  own  exuberant  heart 
had  not  been  able  to  refrain  from  making. 

"  Why,  that  I  was  stewed  idiot  enough  to  go  on 
investing  in  this  infernal  scrip  instead  of  clearing  out 
just  when  I  had  made  the  modest  profit  of  four  hun- 
dred per  cent." 

"  Oh !  "  said  the  other,  in  disappointed  surprise, 
adding,  "  But  you  don't  show  it.  You  take  it  smiling, 
Stanninghame.  You  don't  turn  a  hair." 

"H'm!" 

With  the  ejaculation,  Laurence  was  thinking  of  a 
certain  room,  shaded  from  the  glare  of  the  sunlight 
without,  and  of  a  very  grim  moment  indeed.  He 
was  looking,  too,  at  the  'hearty,  bright-mannered 
youngster  who  had  already  begun  to  forget  his  recent 
disappointment  in  the  prospect  of  adventure  and 
novelty.  He  himself  had  been  nearly  as  light- 
hearted,  just  as  ready  to  mirth  and  laughter  at  that 
age.  Yet  now?  Would  it  be  the  same  with  this 
one?  Who  could  say? 

125 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

The  suggestion  that  Holmes  should  accompany 
the  expedition  was  not  received  with  enthusiasm  by 
Hazon,  neither  did  it  meet  with  immediate  and 
decisive  repudiation.  Characteristically,  Hazon  pro- 
ceeded to  argue  out  the  matter  pro  and  con. 

"  He  doesn't  know  the  real  nature  of  our  business, 
Stanninghame?  no,  of  course  not.  Thinks  it's  only 
a  shooting  trip? — good.  Well,  the  question  is,  are 
we  dead  certain  of  finding  opportunities  for  sending 
hirr  jack;  for  we  can't  turn  him  loose  on  the  veldt 
and  say  good-bye?  " 

"  There  are  several  places  where  we  might  drop 
him,"  said  Laurence,  consulting  a  map  and  mention- 
ing a  few. 

"  Quite  so.  Well,  here's  another  consideration. 
He's  a  youngster,  and  probably  has  scores  of  relations 
more  or  less  interested  in  him.  We  don't  want  to 
draw  down  inquiries  and  investigations  into  our  move- 
ments and  affairs." 

"  That  won't  count  seriously,  Hazon." 

"  Think  not?  Um!  Well  then,  what  if  we  were  to 
take  him  along — run  him  into  the  whole  shoot 
with  us?" 

"Phew!  That's  a  horse  whose  colour  I've  never 
scrutinized.  And  the  point?  " 

"  Might  help  us  in  more  ways  than  one;  in  case  of 
difficulties  afterwards,  I  mean.  The  idea  seems  to 
knock  you  out  some,  Stanninghame?" 

There  was  something  in  it.  Laurence,  reckless, 
unscrupulous  as  he  was,  could  not  but  hesitate.  In 
striving  to  save  his  young  friend  from  one  form  of 
ruin,  was  it  written  that  he  should  plunge  him  into 

126 


PREPARATION. 

another  more  irretrievable,  more  sweeping,  more 
lifelong? 

"  I  am  thinking  he  might  give  us  trouble,"  he  re- 
plied deliberately.  "  What  if  he  sickened  of  the 
whole  business,  and  kicked  just  when  we  wanted  to 
pull  together  the  most?  No,  no,  Hazon.  If  we  take 
him  at  all,  we  must  send  him  back  as  I  say.  It's  all 
very  well  for  us  two,  but  it  doesn't  seem  quite  the 
thing  to  run  a  fresh-hearted  youngster,  with  all  his 
life  before  him,  and  bursting  with  hopes  and  ideals, 
into  a  grim  business  of  this  kind.  But  taking  him, 
or  leaving  him,  rests  with  you  entirely." 

"  Leave  it  that  way,  then.  I'll  think  it  over  and 
see  if  it  pans  out  any,"  said  Hazon,  leisurely  lighting 
a  fresh  pipe.  "  But,  Stanninghame,  what's  this?"  he 
added,  with  a  sudden,  keen  glance  out  of  his  piercing 
eyes.  "  You  are  letting  yourself  go  with  regard  to 
this  matter — showing  feeling.  That  won't  do,  you 
know.  You've  got  to  have  no  sample  of  that  sort  of 
goods  about  you,  no  more  than  can  be  put  into  a 
block  of  granite.  Aren't  you  in  training  yet?  " 

"  Well,  I  think  so ;  or,  at  any  rate,  shall  be  long 
before  it  is  wanted  seriously." 

No  more  was  said  on  the  subject  then. 

As  the  preparations  progressed,  and  the  time  for 
the  start  drew  near,  it  seemed  to  Laurence  Stanning- 
hame that  more  and  more  was  the  old  life  a  mere 
dream,  a  dream  of  the  past.  Sometimes  in  his  sleep 
he  would  be  back  in  it,  would  see  the  dinginess  of  the 
ramshackle  semi-detached,  would  hear  the  vulgar 
sounds  of  the  vulgar  suburban  street;  and  he  would 

127 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

turn  uneasily  in  his  dreams,  with  a  depressing  con- 
sciousness of  dust  and  discord,  and  a  blank  wall  as  of 
the  hopelessness  of  life  drawn  across  his  path.  Feel- 
ing? Pooh!  Who  would  miss  him  out  of  the  tradi- 
tional "  charm "  of  the  family  circle?  A  new  toy, 
costing  an  extra  shilling  or  so,  would  quite  knock  out 
all  and  any  recollection  of  himself.  There  were  times 
when  in  his  dreams  he  had  even  returned  to  the 
domestic  ark,  and  in  the  result  a  day  of  welcome  and 
comparative  peace,  then  discord  and  jangling  strife  as 
before,  and  the  ever  weighing-down,  depressing, 
crushing  consciousness  of  squalid  penury  for  the  rest 
of  his  natural  life.  From  such  visions  he  had  awak- 
ened, awakened  with  a  start  of  exultant  gratulation,  to 
find  the  glow  of  the  African  sun  streaming  into  the 
room;  every  nerve  tingling  with  a  consciousness  of 
strength  and  braced-up  vigour;  his  mind  rejoicing  to 
look  forward  into  the  boundless  possibilities  held  out 
by  the  adventure  in  which  he  was  involved ;  that  other 
ghastly  horror,  which  had  haunted  him  for  so  long, 
now  put  far  away.  Risk,  excitement,  peril,  daring, 
to  be  rewarded  by  wealth,  after  long  years  of  un- 
natural stagnation.  The  prospect  opened  out  a  vista 
as  of  boundless  delight. 

Yet  was  this  dashed — dashed  by  an  impending  part- 
ing. The  certainty  of  this  would  ever  intrude  and 
quench  his  exultation.  Sweet  Lilith!  how  she  had 
subtilely  intertwined  herself  within  his  life!  Well,  he 
was  strong;  he  could  surely  keep  himself  in  hand.  It 
should  be  a  part  of  his  training.  Still,  though  the 
certainty  of  impending  separation  would  quench  his 
exultation,  on  awakening  to  the  light  of  each  new  day, 

128 


PREPARATION. 

which  brought  that  parting  nearer,  yet  there  was 
another  certainty,  that  at  least  a  portion  of  every  such 
day  should  be  spent  with  her. 

But  even  he,  with  all  his  strength,  with  all  his  fore- 
sight, little  realized  what  the  actual  moment  of  that 
parting  should  mean. 


129 


CHAPTER  XL 


HE  was  there  to  say  good-bye. 

As  he  sat  waiting,  the  soft  subdued  hush  of  the 
shaded  room,  in  its  cool  fragrance,  struck  upon  his 
senses  as  with  an  influence  of  depression,  of  sadness, 
of  loss.  He  had  come  to  bid  farewell.  Farewell! 
Now  the  moment  had  arrived  he,  somehow,  felt  it. 

Would  she  never  come  in?  His  nerves  seemed  all 
on  edge,  and  ever  upon  the  glowing  midday  heat,  the 
jarring  thump  of  the  Crown  Reef  battery  beat  its 
monotonous  time.  Then  the  door  opened  softly,  and 
Lilith  entered. 

Never  had  she  seemed  to  look  more  sweet,  more 
inviting.  The  rich,  dark  beauty,  always  more  en- 
thralling, more  captivating  when  warmed  by  the 
constant  kiss  of  its  native  southern  sun;  the  starry 
eyes,  wide  with  earnestness;  the  sad,  sweet  expression 
of  the  wistful  lips;  the  glorious  splendour  of  the  per- 
fect form,  in  its  cool,  creamy  white  draperies. 
Laurence  Stanninghame,  gazing  upon  her,  realized 
with  a  dull,  dead  ache  at  the  heart,  that  all  his  self- 
boasted  strength  was  but  the  veriest  weakness.  And 
now  he  had  come  to  say  farewell. 

"  I  can  hardly  realize  that  we  shall  not  see  each 
other  again,"  Lilith  said,  after  a  transparently  feeble 

130 


"AT  THE   TWELFTH    HOUR." 

attempt  or  two  on  the  part  of  both  of  them  to  talk 
on  indifferent  subjects.  "  When  do  you  expect  to 
return?  How  long  will  you  be  away?  " 

"  '  It  may  be  for  years,  and  it  may  be  for  ever/  " 
quoted  Laurence,  a  bitter  ring  in  his  tone.  "Probably 
the  latter." 

"  You  must  not  say  that.  Remember  what  I  told 
you,  more  than  once  before.  I  am  always  hopeful, 
I  never  despair,  even  when  things  look  blackest — 
either  for  myself  or  other  people.  Though,  I  dare 
say,  you  are  laughing  to  yourself  now  at  the  idea  of 
things  being  anything  but  bright  to  me.  Well, 
then,  I  predict  you  will  come  back  with  what  you 
want.  You  will  return  rich,  and  all  will  look  up  then 
for  you." 

She  spoke  lightly,  smilingly.  He,  listening,  gazing 
at  her,  felt  bitter.  He  had  been  mistaken.  Well,  he 
had  found  out  his  mistake,  only  just  in  time — only 
just.  But  even  he,  with  all  his  observant  perceptive- 
ness,  had  failed  to  penetrate  Lilith's  magnificent  self- 
command. 

"  Let  us  hope  your  prediction  will  prove  a  true, 
one,"  he  said,  falling  in  with  her  supposed  mood. 
"  The  one  thing  to  make  life  worth  living  is  wealth. 
I  will  stick  at  nothing  to  obtain  it — nothing!  With- 
out it,  life  is  a  hell;  with  it — well,  life  is  at  one's  feet. 
There  *is  nothing  one  cannot  do  with  it — nothing." 

His  eyes  glowed  with  a  sombre  light.  There  was 
a  world  of  repressed  passion  in  his  tone,  the  resent- 
ful snarl,  as  he  thought  of  the  past  squalor  and  bitter- 
ness of  life,  mingling  with  the  savage  determination 
and  unscrupulous  recklessness  of  the  born  adventurer. 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

"  There  is  one  thing  you  cannot  obtain  for  it,"  she 
said.  "  That  is — love." 

"  But  it  can  bring  you  all  that  will  cause  you  to 
feel  no  longing  for  that  deceptive  illusion.  You  can 
forget  that  such  a  thing  exists — can  forget  it  in  the 
renewed  exuberance  of  vitality  which  is  sheer  enjoy- 
ment of  living.  Well,  wish  me  luck.  '  Good-bye ' 
is  a  dreadful  word,  but  it  has  to  be  said." 

He  had  risen  and  stood  blindly,  half-bewilderedly. 
The  shaded  room,  the  sensuous  fragrance  of  her 
presence,  every  graceful  movement,  the  fascination 
of  the  wide,  earnest  eyes,  all  was  more  than  beginning 
to  intoxicate  him,  to  shatter  his  chain-armour  of 
bitterness  and  self-control.  He,  the  strong,  the  in- 
vulnerable, the  man  in  whom  all  heart  and  feeling 
was  dead — what  sorcery  was  this?  He  was  be- 
witched, entranced,  enthralled.  His  strength  was  as 
water.  Yet  not. 

They  stood  facing  each  other,  glance  fused  into 
glance.  At  that  moment  heart  seemed  opened  to 
heart — to  be  gazing  therein. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said.  "  Don't  quite  forget  me, 
Lilith  dear.  Think  a  little  now  and  then  of  the  times 
we  have  had  together."  Then  their  lips  met  in  a  long 
kiss.  And  she  said — nothing.  Perhaps  she  could 
not.  The  flood-gate  of  an  awful  torrent  of  pent-up, 
bravely  controlled  grief  may  be  opened  in  the  utter- 
ance of  that  word  "  good-bye." 

Laurence  Stanninghame  seemed  to  walk  blindly, 
staggering  in  the  strong  sunlight.  Was  it  the  midday 
heat,  or  the  strong  glare?  The  ever-monotonous 

132 


"AT   THE   TWELFTH    HOUR." 

beat  of  the  Crown  Reef  stamps  seemed  to  hammer 
within  his  brain,  which  seethed  and  swirled  with  the 
recollection  of  that  last  long  kiss.  He  would  not 
look  back.  Impervious  to  the  furnace-like  heat,  he 
stepped  out  over  the  veldt  at  a  pace  which,  by  the 
time  he  reached  the  corner  of  the  Wemmer  property, 
caused  him  to  look  up  wonderingly,  that  he  should 
already  be  entering  the  town. 

"  Oh,  there  you  are,  Stanninghame,"  sung  out  a 
voice,  whose  owner  nearly  cannoned  into  him.  Lau- 
rence looked  up. 

"  Here  I  am,  as  you  say,  Holmes,"  he  answered, 
quite  coolly  and  unconcernedly.  "  But  where  are  you 
bound  for,  and  what's  the  excitement,  anyway?  " 

"  Why,  I  thought  I'd  see  if  I  could  meet  you. 
Hazon  said  you  had  gone  down  to  Booyseus  this 
morning.  What  do  you  think?  I've  got  round  him, 
and  I'm  going  with  you." 

Laurence  stared,  then  looked  grave. 

"  Going  with  us,  eh?  I  say,  youngster,  have  you 
made  your  will?  " 

"  Haven't  got  anything  to  leave.  But,  Stanning- 
hame, I'm  awfully  obliged  to  you,  old  fellow.  It's  all 
through  you  I've  got  round  the  old  man." 

"  Have  you  any  sort  of  idea  what  our  program  is?  " 

"  None.     And  I  don't  care." 

Laurence  whistled. 

"  See  here,  Holmes,"  he  said,  "  this  thing  has  got 
to  be  looked  into.  In  fact,  it  can't  go  on." 

"  Yes  it  can,  and  it  shall.  Don't  be  a  beast,  now, 
Stanninghame.  I'd  go  anywhere  with  you  two  fel- 
lows, and  I'm  dead  off  this  waiting  for  a  boom  that 

133 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

never  comes.  I  shall  be  as  stony  broke  as  the  rest 
of  them  if  I  hold  on  any  longer.  So  I'm  going  to 
realize  at  a  loss,  and  go  with  you.  Come  along,  now, 
to  Phillips'  bar  and  we'll  split  a  bottle  of  cham.  to  the 
undertaking." 

"  You  don't  need  to  buzz  to  that  extent,  Holmes. 
I  hate  '  gooseberry.'  '  John  Walker  '  is  good  enough 
for  me." 

They  reached  Phillips',  and  found  that  historic  bar 
far  from  empty;  and  young  Holmes,  who  was  full  of 
exhilaration  over  the  prospects  of  this  trip,  was  in- 
sisting that  many  should  drink  success  thereto. 
Laurence,  silent  amid  the  racket  of  voices,  was 
curiously  watching  him.  This  joyous-hearted  young- 
ster, would  he  ever  come  to  look  back  upon  life  as 
a  thing  that  had  far  better  have  never  been  lived? 
And  he  smiled  queerly  to  himself  as  he  thought  what 
would  be  the  effect  upon  Holmes  of  the  experiences 
he  would  bring  back  with  him  from  that  trip  to  which 
he  was  looking  forward  so  joyously,  so  hopefully — 
if  he  returned  from  it  at  all,  that  was — if,  indeed,  any 
of  them  did.  But  throughout  the  racket — the  strife 
of  tongues,  the  boisterous  guffaw  over  some  cheap 
"  wheeze  " — the  recollection  of  the  shaded  room,  of 
that  last  good-bye  in  the  cloudless  noontide  pressed 
like  a  living  weight  upon  his  heart.  Never  would  it 
be  obliterated — never. 

Throughout  the  afternoon  Laurence  busied  himself 
greatly  over  the  final  preparations.  He  did  not  even 
feel  tempted  to  ride  over  to  Booyseus,  on  some  pre- 
text. Lilith  would  not  be  alone.  There  was  always 

134 


"AT  THE   TWELFTH    HOUR." 

a  host  of  people  there  of  an  afternoon — callers, 
lawn-tennis  players,  and  so  forth.  The  ineffably 
sweet  sadness  of  that  last  parting  must  be  the  recol- 
lection he  was  to  carry  forth  with  him. 

It  was  evening.  The  wagons  had  been  started 
just  before  sundown,  and  now  their  owners  were 
riding  out  of  the  town  to  overtake  them.  Young 
Holmes,  suffering  under  an  exuberance  of  exhilara- 
tion begotten  of  multifold  good-byes  effected  to  a 
spirituous  accompaniment,  was  not  so  firm  in  his 
saddle  as  he  might  have  been;  but  on  the  hardened 
heads  of  the  other  two  the  effect  of  such  farewells  had 
been  nil.  They  were  just  getting  clear  of  the  town 
when  they  became  aware  of  a  panting,  puffing  native 
striving  to  overtake  them. 

"  Why,  it's  John,"  said  Hazon,  recognizing  one  of 
the  coloured  waiters  at  their  hotel. 

The  boy  ran  straight  up  to  Laurence,  and  held  out 
an  envelope. 

"  For  you,  baas,"  he  said.  "  The  baas  forgot  to 
give  it  you.  Dank  you,  baas!  "  catching,  with  a  grin, 
something  that  was  flung  to  him. 

It  was  a  delicate-looking  envelope,  and  sealed. 
What  new  surprise  was  this?  as  he  took  in  the  puzzling 
yet  characteristic  handwriting  of  the  address. 

"  I  must  see  you  once  more,"  he  read.  "  I  cannot 
let  you  go  like  this,  Laurence,  darling.  Come  to  me 
for  one  more  good-bye.  I  shall  be  alone  this  evening. 
Come  to  me,  love  of  my  heart.  L." 

135 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

"Pho!  Of  course  it  was  not!  It  was  too  ridicu- 
lous. It  was  not  as  if  all  heaven  had  opened  before 
his  eyes.  Of  course  not !  "  he  told  himself. 

But  it  was. 

"  By  the  way,  Hazon,"  he  said  indifferently,  "  I 
find  there  is  still  a  matter  I  have  to  attend  to.  So 
you  must  go  on  without  me.  I  expect  I'll  overtake 
you  to-morrow  not  long  after  sunrise— or  not  much 
later.  So-long!" 

The  dark,  impassive  face  of  the  up-country  man 
underwent  no  change.  He  had  understood  the  whole 
change  of  plan,  but  it  was  no  concern  of  his.  So  he 
merely  said  "  /a,  so-long,"  and  continued  his  way. 

Laurence  did  not  go  back  to  the  hotel.  The  last 
thing  he  desired  was  that  his  return  should  be  noticed 
and  commented  upon.  He  sought  out  Rainsford, 
who,  having  stable-room,  willingly  consented  to  put 
up  his  steed,  and,  being  a  discreet  fellow,  was  not 
likely  to  indulge  in  undue  tongue-wagging.  Then  he 
took  his  way  down  to  Booyseus. 

As  he  stepped  forth  through  the  gloom — for  by 
this  time  it  was  quite  dark — the  words  of  that  missive 
seemed  burned  into  his  brain  in  characters  of  fire  and 
of  gold.  What  words  they  were,  too!  He  had  read 
her  glance  aright,  then?  It  was  only  that  intrepidity 
of  self-command  which  he  had  failed  to  allow  for. 
And  he?  Why  had  he  been  so  strong  that  morning? 
Seldom  indeed  did  a  second  opportunity  occur.  But 
now?  When  he  should  return  up  the  hill  he  was  now 
descending,  such  a  memory  would  be  his  to  carry 
forth  with  him  into  the  solitude  and  peril  and  priva- 
tion of  his  enterprise!  Yet  to  what  end?  Even  if 

136 


"AT   THE   TWELFTH    HOUR." 

he  were  successful  in  amassing  wealth  untold,  yet 
they  two  must  be  as  far  apart  as  ever.  Well,  that 
need  not  follow,  he  told  himself.  With  wealth  one 
can  do  anything — anything;  without  it  nothing, 
was  at  this  time  the  primary  article  of  Laurence 
Stanninghame's  creed;  and  at  the  thought  his  step 
grew  more  elastic,  and  all  unconsciously  his  head 
threw  itself  back  in  a  gesture  of  anticipatory  triumph. 

The  house  was  quiet  as  he  approached.  At  the 
sound  of  his  step  on  the  stoep — almost  before  he  had 
time  to  knock — the  door  was  opened — was  opened  by 
Lilith  herself — then  closed  behind  him. 

She  said  no  word ;  she  only  looked  up  at  him.  The 
subdued  light  of  the  half-darkened  hall  softened  as 
with  an  almost  unearthly  beauty  the  upturned  face, 
and  forth  from  it  her  eyes  shone,  glowed  with  the 
lustre  of  a  radiant  tenderness,  too  vast,  too  over- 
whelming for  her  lips  to  utter. 

And  he?  He,  too,  said  no  word.  Those  lips  of 
hers,  sweet,  inviting,  were  pressed  to  his ;  that  peerless 
form  was  wrapped  in  his  embrace,  sinking  therein 
with  a  soft  sigh  of  contentment.  What  room  was 
there  for  mere  words?  as  again  and  again  he  kissed 
the  lips — eyes — hair — then  the  lips  again.  This  was 
only  the  beginning  of  a  farewell  visit, — a  sad,  whirl- 
ing, heart-break  of  farewell, — yet  as  the  blood  surged 
boiling  through  Laurence  Stanninghame's  veins,  and 
heart,  pressed  against  heart,  seemed  swelled  to  burst- 
ing point,  he  thought  that  life,  even  such  as  it  had 
been,  was  worth  living  if  it  could  contain  such  a  mo- 
ment as  this.  Equally,  too,  did  he  realize  that,  in  life 
or  in  death,  the  triumph-joy  of  this  moment  should 

137 


THE   SIGN    OF   THE   SPIDER. 

illumine  his  memory,  dark  though  it  might  be,  for  ever 
and  ever. 

u  What  did  you  think  of  me  when  you  got  my  note, 
dear  one?  "  she  whispered  at  last.  "  And  I  have  been 
in  perfect  agony  ever  since,  for  fear  it  should  be  too 
late.  But  I  could  not  let  you  go  as  I  did  this  morn- 
ing. I  felt  such  an  irresistible  craving  to  see  you 
again,  Laurence,  my  darling,  to  hear  your  voice.  I 
felt  we  could  not  part  as  we  did — each  trying  to 
deceive  the  other,  each  knowing,  the  while,  that  it 
was  impossible.  I  wanted  more  than  that  for  a 
memory  throughout  the  blank  time  that  is  coming." 

"  Yes,  we  were  both  too  strong,  my  Lilith.  And 
why  should  we  have  been?  What  scruple  ever  stood 
anybody  to  the  good  in  this  hell-fraud  of  a  state 
called  '  Life  '  ?  Not  one — not  one !  Yes,  we  were  too 
strong,  and  your  self-command  deceived  even  me." 

"  My  self-command?  Ah,  Laurence,  my  darling, 
how  little  you  knew!  All  the  time  I  was  battling 
hard  with  myself,  forcing  down  an  irresistible  long- 
ing to  do  this — and  this — and  this !  "  And  drawing 
down  his  head,  she  kissed  him,  again  and  again, 
long,  tender  kisses,  as  though  her  whole  soul  sought 
entrance  into  his. 

"  But  I  shall  tire  you,  my  dearest,  if  I  keep  you 
standing  here  like  this,"  she  went  on.  "  Come  inside 
now,  and  our  last  talk — our  last  for  a  long  time — 
shall,  at  any  rate,  be  a  cosey  one." 

She  drew  him  within  the  half  open  door  of  an  ad- 
joining room.  The  window  curtains  were  drawn, 
and  a  shaded  lamp  gave  forth  the  same  subdued  and 
chastened  light  as  that  which  burned  in  the  hall. 

138 


"AT  THE   TWELFTH    HOUR." 

There  were  flowers  in  vases  and  sprays,  arranged  in 
every  tasteful  and  delicate  manner,  and  distilling  a 
fragrance  subtile  and  pervading.  The  sumptuous 
prettiness  of  the  furniture  and  ornaments — picture 
frames  encasing  mystic  and  thought-evoking  subjects, 
books  disposed  here  and  there,  delicate  embroidery, 
the  work  of  her  fingers — in  short,  the  hundred  and 
one  dainty  knick-knacks  pleasing  to  the  eye — seemed 
to  reflect  the  bright,  beautiful  personality  of  Lilith; 
for,  indeed,  the  arrangement  and  disposal  of  them 
was  almost  entirely  her  own. 

She  made  him  sit  down  upon  the  softest  and  most 
comfortable  couch;  then,  as  she  seated  herself  beside 
him,  he  drew  her  head  down  to  rest  upon  his  shoulder 
and  wound  his  arms  about  her. 

"  Why  did  you  wait  until  even  the  twelfth  hour?  " 
he  said.  "  Why  did  you  blind  me  all  this  time,  my 
Lilith?  Only  think  what  we  have  lost  by  it!  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  have  indeed.  But  tell  me,  dear  one, 
it  is  not  too  late,  is  it,  even  though  it  be  the  twelfth 
hour?" 

"  It  came  very  near  being  too  late.  I  had  already 
started.  Yes,  it  is  indeed  the  twelfth  hour.  Too  late? 
I  don't  know,"  he  went  on,  in  a  tone  of  sombre  bitter- 
ness. "  Think  of  the  blissful  times  that  might  have 
been  ours  had  I  but  known.  I  would  have  taught 
you  the  real  meaning  of  the  word  '  love.'  I  would 
have  drawn  your  innermost  soul  from  you — would 
have  drawn  it  into  mine — have  twined  every  thought 
of  your  being  around  mine — had  I  but  known.  And  I 
could  have  done  this;  you  know  I  could,  do  you  not? 
Think  a  moment,  then  answer." 

139 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

The  head  which  rested  on  his  shoulder  seemed  to 
lean  heavier  there;  the  arm  which  encircled  her  was 
pressed  tighter  by  hers  to  the  round,  beautiful  waist, 
as  though  to  bring  herself  closer  within  his  embrace. 
The  answer  came,  rapturously  sweet,  but  with  a  thrill 
of  pain: 

"  I  know  you  could  have.  There  is  no  need  to 
think,  even  for  a  moment.  You  have  done  it." 

"  I  have  tried  to,  even  against  difficulties.  Come 
what  may,  Lilith,  you  shall  never  be  free  from  the 
spell  of  this  love  of  ours.  All  thoughts  of  other  love 
shall  be  flat,  and  stale,  and  dead;  and  now,  when  I 
am  gone,  your  whole  soul  shall  ache  and  throb  with  a 
sense  of  loss — love  and  pain  intertwined — yet  not 
one  pang  of  the  latter  would  you  forego,  lest  it  should 
lessen  the  rapturous  keenness  of  the  former  in  the 
minutest  degree.  This  is  what  you  have  caused  me 
to  suffer  by  reason  of  your  stony  self-command  up 
till  this  morning.  Now  you  shall  suffer  it  too." 

His  tones  were  calm,  even  almost  stern  as  those  of 
a  judge  pronouncing  sentence.  Lilith,  drinking  in 
every  word,  felt  already  that  every  word  was  true. 
That  sense  of  love  and  pain  was  already  in  possession 
of  her  soul,  and  would  retain  possession  until  all 
capacity  for  feeling  \vas  dulled  and  dead. 

"  You  were  cruel  to  draw  my  very  soul  out  of  me 
as  you  have  done — to  force  me  to  love  you  as  I  do," 
she  answered — "  cruel  and  pitiless." 

"What  then?  I  was  but  carrying  out  the  pro- 
gram of  life.  It  is  that  way.  But  tell  me,  would 
you  have  preferred  that  I  had  not  done  it — that  I 
had  passed  by  on  the  other  side?" 

140 


"AT   THE   TWELFTH    HOUR." 

"Oh,  my  Laurence,  no!  No,  no — ten  thousand 
times  no!  The  mere  recollection  of  such  an  hour  as 
this  is  worth  a  life-time  of  the  awful  pain  of  loss  of 
which  you  speak  and  which  is  around  me  already." 

"  That  was  my  own  judgment  when  I  first  recog- 
nized that  a  strong  mutual  '  draw '  was  bringing  us 
together.  I  foresaw  this  moment,  and  deliberately 
acquiesced  in  fate." 

Now  the  soft  waves  of  her  hair  swept  his  face,  now 
the  satin  smoothness  of  her  cheek  lay  against  his. 
Lips  met  lips  again  and  again,  and  never  for  a  mo- 
ment did  the  clasp  of  that  firm  embrace  relax.  The 
dead  blank  hopelessness  of  life  and  its  conditions, 
then,  had  still  contained  this,  had  culminated  in  this? 
As  he  thus  held  her  to  him,  as  though  he  would  hold 
her  forever,  some  dreamy  brain-wave  seemed  to  carry 
Laurence's  mind  into  the  dim  and  somewhat  awe- 
some vistas  of  the  future,  to  bring  it  face  to  face 
with  death  in  varying  and  appalling  forms.  What 
mattered!  The  recollection  of  this  farewell  hour  here, 
in  the  half-shaded  room,  with  its  subtile  fragrance  of 
flowers  and  mysterious  light,  would  be  with  him  then. 
Such  an  hour  as  this  would  be  a  crowning  triumph 
to  the  apex  of  life.  Better  that  life  should  end  than 
lengthen  out  to  witness  a  decline  from  this  apex. 

As  Lilith  had  said,  he  was  cruel  and  pitiless  in  his 
love.  What  then?  It  was  characteristic  of  him. 
Had  not  all  experience  taught  him  that  the  slightest 
weakness,  the  slightest  compunction,  was  that  faulty 
link  which  should  snap  the  chain,  be  the  latter  never 
so  massively  forged?  He  remembered  how  they  had 

141 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

held  discussion  as  to  whether  right  might  ensue  from 
what  was  wrong  in  the  abstract.  He  remembered 
the  cold,  hard  imprint  of  the  revolver-muzzle  against 
his  forehead,  the  increasing  pressure  of  his  thumb 
upon  the  trigger,  then  the  thought  of  Lilith's  love  had 
come  in  as  a  hand  stretched  forth  to  snatch  him  from 
the  jaws  of  death.  And  it  had  so  snatched  him. 
What  were  the  mere  conventional  rules  of  abstract 
right  or  wrong  beside  such  an  instance  of  cause  and 
effect?  Old  wives'  fables. 

They  were  standing  up,  face  to  face,  looking  into 
each  other's  eyes.  The  hour  was  late  now.  Any 
moment  the  household  might  return.  Both  desired 
that  the  last  farewell  should  take  place  alone.  Not 
for  the  sake  of  a  few  more  precious  moments  would 
they  run  the  risk  of  being  cheated  out  of  that  last 
farewell. 

"  You  sweet,  cruel,  pitiless  torturer,"  Lilith  said, 
locking  her  hands  in  his,  as  they  rose,  "  you  have 
placed  my  life  under  one  great  lasting  shadow, 
because  of  the  recollection  of  you.  How  will  it  be, 
think  you,  when  I  wake  up  to-morrow  and  find  you 
are  gone — if  I  sleep  at  all  that  is?  How  will  it  be 

when,  day  after  day,  week  after  week Ah,  love, 

love,"  she  broke  off,  "  and  yet  I  cannot  say,  '  Why 
did  you  do  it? '  for  your  very  cruelty  in  doing  it  is 
sweet — sweet,  do  you  hear,  Laurence?  Have  you 
ever  been  loved — tell  me,  have  you,  have  you?"  she 
went  on,  drawing  his  head  down  with  a  sort  of 
fierceness  and  again  pressing  her  burning  lips 
to  his. 

142 


-AT   THE   TWELFTH    HOUR." 

"  At  the  twelfth  hour!  at  the  twelfth  hour! "  he  re- 
peated, in  a  kind  of  condemnatory  merciless  tone, 
while  his  clasp  tightened  around  the  lovely  form, 
which  seemed  literally  to  hang  in  his  arms.  "  Love 
of  my  heart,  think  what  such  an  hour  as  this  might 
have  been,  not  once,  but  again  and  again,  and  that 
undashed  with  the  pain  of  immediate  parting  as  now. 
Why  did  we — why  did  you — wait  until  the  very 
twelfth  hour?  Why?" 

"  Why,  indeed?  Darling,  darling,  don't  reproach 
me.  You  have  drawn  my  very  heart  and  soul  into 
yours.  Think  of  it  ever,  day  and  night,  whatever 
may  befall  you.  Oh,  Laurence,  my  heart's  life !  " 

Now  this  hard,  stony,  self-controlled  stoic  dis- 
covered that  his  granite  nature  was  shaken  to  its 
foundation.  But,  even  then,  the  unutterable  sweet- 
ness of  the  thought  that  he,  and  he  alone,  had  lived 
to  inspire  the  anguish  of  the  pleading  tones  that 
thrilled  to  his  ear,  thrilled  with  love  for  him,  to  en- 
kindle the  light  that  shone  from  those  eyes,  melting 
with  love  for  him;  this  thought  flowed  in  upon  the 
torrent-wave  of  his  pain,  rendering  it  bliss,  yet  lash- 
ing it  up  the  more  fiercely. 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments.  Both  stood 
gazing  into  each  other's  eyes;  gazing,  as  it  were,  into 
the  innermost  depths  of  each  other's  soul.  Then  the 
sound  of  voices  drawing  nearer,  rising  above  the 
clanking  hum  of  the  Crown  Reef  battery,  seemed  to 
warn  them  that  if  their  last  farewell  was  to  be  made 
alone  the  time  to  make  it  had  come. 

"  Good-bye,  now,  love  of  my  heart,"  he  whispered, 
between  long,  burning,  clinging  kisses.  Now  that 

143 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

this  final  parting  had  come,  the  dead,  dreary,  heart- 
sick pain  of  it  seemed  to  choke  all  utterance. 

She  strained  him  to  her,  and  heart  throbbed  against 
heart.  Even  now  she  seemed  to  see  his  face  mistily 
and  far  away. 

"Oh,  it  is  too  bitter!"  she  gasped,  striving  to 
drown  her  rising  sobs.  "  Laurence,  my  darling! 
Oh,  my  love,  my  life,  my  ideal — yes,  you  were  that 
from  the  moment  I  first  saw  you — good-bye — and 
good-bye !  " 

He  was  gone.  It  was  as  though  their  embrace  had 
literally  been  wrenched  asunder.  He  was  gone.  And 
even  as  he  passed  from  her  vision,  from  the  light 
into  the  gloom,  so  it  seemed  as  though  he  had  borne 
the  light  of  her  life  with  him,  and,  as  Lilith  stood  there 
in  the  open  doorway,  gazing  forth  into  the  night,  the 
dull-  measured  clank  of  the  battery  stamps  seemed  to 
beat  in  cruel,  pitiless  refrain  within  her  heart: 

"  At  the  twelfth  hour!  at  the  twelfth  hour!  " 


144 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  THE    DARK   PLACES   OF   THE   EARTH." 

THE  sun  is  setting  above  the  tropical  forest — hot 
and  red  and  smoky — his  fiery  ball  imparting  some- 
thing of  a  coppery  molten  hue  to  the  vast  seas  of 
luxuriant  verdure,  rolling,  with  scarce  a  break,  on  all 
sides,  far  as  the  eye  can  reach.  But  beneath,  in  the 
dim  shade,  where  the  air  is  choked  by  rotting  under- 
growth and  tangled  vegetation,  the  now  slanting  rays 
are  powerless  to  penetrate,  powerless  to  dispel  the 
steamy  miasmic  exhalations.  Silence,  too,  is  the  rule 
in  that  semi-gloom,  save  for  here  and  there  the  half- 
frightened  chirp  of  a  bird  far  up  among  the  tree-tops, 
or  the  stealthy  rustle  beneath  as  some  serpent,  or  huge 
venomous  insect,  moves  upon  its  way.  For  among 
the  decayed  wood  of  fallen  tree  trunks,  and  dry  lichens 
and  hoary  mosses  growing  therefrom,  do  such 
delight  to  dwell. 

Beautiful  as  this  shaded  solitude  is  with  its  vistas 
of  massive  tree-trunk  and  sombre  foliage,  the  latter 
here  and  there  relieved  by  clusters  of  scarlet-hued 
blossoms,  there  is  withal  an  awesomeness  about  its 
beauty.  Even  the  surroundings  will  soon  begin  to 
take  on  shape,  and  the  boles  and  tossing  boughs, 
and  naked,  dead,  and  broken  fragments  starting  from 
the  dank  soil,  assume  form,  attitude,  countenance, 

145 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

in  a  hundred  divers  contortions — gnome-like,  gro- 
tesque, diabolical.  Strange,  too,  if  the  wayfarer 
threading  the  steamy  mazes  of  these  unending  glades 
does  not  soon  think  to  hear  ghostly  whisperings  in 
the  awed  silence  of  the  air,  does  not  conjure  up  un- 
seen eyes  marking  his  every  step — for  the  hot  moist 
depression  is  such  as  to  weigh  alike  upon  nerve  and 
brain. 

And  now,  through  the  sombre  vistas  of  this  phan- 
tom-evoking solitude,  faint  and  far  comes  a  strange 
sound — a  low,  vibrating,  booming  hum,  above  which, 
now  and  again,  arises  a  shrill,  long-drawn  wail.  The 
effect  is  indescribably  gruesome  and  eerie — in  fact, 
terror-striking — even  if  human,  for  there  is  an  inde- 
finable something,  in  sight,  and  sound,  and  surround- 
ing, calculated  to  tell,  if  telling  were  needed,  that  this 
is  indeed  one  of  "  the  dark  places  of  the  earth." 

But  if  the  sinking  beams  of  the  orb  of  light  fail  to 
penetrate  this  foliage  and  enshrouded  gloom,  they 
slant  hot  and  red  upon  an  open  space,  and  that 
which  this  space  contains.  Inclosed  within  an  ir- 
regular stockade — mud-plastered,  reed-thatched — 
stand  the  huts  of  a  native  village. 

The  noise  which  penetrated  in  faint  eerie  murmur  to 
yon  distant  forest  shades  is  here  terrific — the  booming 
of  drums,  the  cavernous  bellowing  of  the  native  horns, 
drowning  rather  than  supporting  the  shrill  yelling 
chorus  of  the  singers.  For  a  great  dance  is  pro- 
ceeding. 

Immediately  within  the  principal  gate  of  the  stock- 
ade is  a  large  open  space,  and  in  this  the  dancers  are 
performing.  In  a  half  circle  in  the  background  sit 

146 


"THE  DARK  PLACES  OF  THE  EARTH/' 

a  number  of  women  and  children,  aiding  with  shrill 
nasal  voices  the  efforts  of  the  "  musicians." 

The  dancers,  to  the  number  of  about  a  hundred, 
seem  to  represent  the  warrior  strength  of  the  place. 
They  are  wild-looking  savages  enough  with  their 
cicatrized  and  tattooed  faces,  and  wool,  red  with 
grease  and  ochre  and  plaited  into  tags,  standing  out 
like  horns  from  their  heads,  giving  them  a  frightfully 
demoniacal  aspect  as  they  whirl  and  leap,  brandish- 
ing spears  and  axes,  and  going  through  the  pantomime 
of  slaying  an  enemy.  They  are  of  fair  physique, 
though  tall  and  gaunt  rather  than  sturdy  of  build. 
And — is  it  a  mere  accident,  or  in  accordance  with 
some  custom — not  one  there  present — whether  among 
the  truculent  crew  executing  the  dance  or  among  the 
women  in  the  background,  appears  to  have  attained 
old  age. 

The  whole  scene  is  sufficiently  repulsive,  even  ter- 
rifying, to  come  upon  suddenly  from  the  silent  heart 
of  the  dark,  repellent  forest.  But  there  is  yet  another 
setting  to  the  picture,  which  shall  render  it  complete 
in  every  hideous  and  horrifying  detail.  For  the  prin- 
cipal gate  itself  is  decorated  with  a  complete  archway 
of  human  heads. 

Heads  in  every  stage  of  horror  and  decay — from 
the  white,  bleached  skull,  grinning  dolefully,  to  the 
bloated  features  of  that  but  lately  severed,  scowling 
outward  with  an  awful  expression  of  terror  and  agony 
and  hate — an  archway  of  them  arranged  in  some  grim 
approach  to  regularity  or  taste.  This  dreadful  gate 
is  indeed  a  fitting  entrance  to  a  devil's  abode,  and  now, 
as  the  red,  fiery  rays  of  the  sinking  sun  play  full 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

upon  it,  the  tortured  features  seem  to  move  and  pucker 
as  though  blasted  with  the  flame  of  satanic  fires.  A 
crow,  withdrawing  his  beak  from  the  sightless  eye- 
holes of  one  of  the  skulls,  soars  upward,  black  and 
demon-like,  uttering  a  weird,  raucous  croak. 

But  as  the  sun  touches  the  far-away  sky  line  the 
dance  suddenly  ceases.  In  wild  hubbub  the  fighting 
men  stream  out  of  the  stockade,  through  the  awful 
archway  of  heads.  They  are  followed  by  women, 
bearing  strange-looking  baskets  and  great  knives. 
All  are  in  high  spirits,  chattering  and  laughing  among 
each  other. 

The  forest  on  this  side  grows  almost  to  the  gate. 
Just  where  its  shade  begins  the  crowd  halts,  cluster- 
ing eagerly  around  two  trees  which  stand  a  little  apart 
from  the  rest.  But  from  one  to  the  other  of  these 
two  trees  is  lashed  a  stout  beam,  such  as  butchers 
might  use  for  hoisting  the  carcass  of  a  slain  bullock. 
And  look!  below  are  oblong  slabs  of  massive  wood, 
and  upon  them  is  blood.  This  is  the  cattle-killing 
place,  then,  and  these  warriors  are  about  to  slaughter 
the  material  for  a  feast ! 

Now  there  is  more  chatter  and  hubbub,  and  all 
faces  are  turned  towards  the  grim  gate — are  turned 
expectantly;  for  the  cattle  awaited.  Then  a  shout, 
an  exclamation,  goes  up.  The  material  for  the  feast 
is  drawing  near. 

The  material  for  the  feast!  Heavens!  No  cattle 
this,  but  human  beings ! 

Human  beings!  Bound,  trussed,  helpless,  five 
human  bodies  are  borne  along  by  their  head  and  heels, 
and  flung  down  anyhow  at  the  place  of  slaughter. 

148 


"THE  DARK  PLACES  OF  THE  EARTH." 

The  eyeballs  of  the  victims  are  starting  from  their 
heads  with  terror  and  despair  as  their  glance  falls 
upon  the  grisly  instruments  of  death.  Yet  no  sur- 
prise is  there,  for  they  have  seen  it  all  before. 

Three  of  the  five  are  old  men.  These  are  seized 
first,  and,  a  thong  being  made  fast  to  their  ankles, 
they  are  hauled  up  to  the  beam,  where,  hanging  head 
downwards,  they  are  butchered  like  calves.  And 
those  who  are  most  active  in  at  any  rate  preparing 
them  for  the  slaughter,  are  their  own  children — their 
oivn  sons. 

These  go  about  their  work  without  one  spark  of 
pity,  one  qualm  of  ruth.  Will  not  their  own  turn 
come  in  the  course  of  years,  should  they  not  be  slain 
in  battle  or  the  chase  in  the  interim?  Of  course. 
Why  then  heed  such  vain  sentiment?  It  is  the 
custom.  Old  and  useless  people  are  not  kept  among 
this  tribe. 

The  other  two,  who  are  not  old,  but  prisoners  of 
war,  suffer  in  like  manner;  and  then  all  five  of  the 
bodies  are  flung  on  to  the  blocks  and  quartered  and 
disjointed  with  astonishing  celerity.  And  women 
bearing  the  oblong  baskets  return  within  the  stock- 
ade, passing  through  the  hideous  gateway,  staggering 
beneath  the  weight  of  limbs  and  trunks  of  their 
slaughtered  fellow-species.  Within  the  open  space 
great  fires  now  leap  and  crackle  into  life,  roaring  up- 
ward upon  the  still  air,  reddening  as  with  a  demon- 
glow  this  hellish  scene,  and,  gathering  around,  the 
savages  impatiently  and  with  hungry  eyes  watch  the 
cooking  of  the  disjointed  members,  and,  hardly  able 
to  restrain  their  impatience,  snatch  their  horrible 

149 


THE  SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

roast  from  the  flames  and  embers  before  it  is  much 
more  than  warmed  through;  and  with  laugh  and 
shout  the  cannibal  orgy  goes  on,  prolonged  far  into 
the  night,  the  bones  and  refuse  being  flung  to  the 
women  in  the  background. 

At  last,  surfeited  with  their  frightful  feast,  these 
demons  in  human  shape  drop  down  and  sleep  like 
brute  beasts.  And  the  full  moon  soaring  high  in  the 
heavens  looks  down  with  a  gibing  sneer  in  her  cold 
cruel  face  upon  this  scene  of  a  shocking  human 
shambles;  and  her  light,  so  far  from  irradiating  this 
"  dark  place  of  the  earth,"  seems  but  to  shed  a  livid 
sulphurous  glare  upon  a  very  antechamber  of  hell. 

The  moon  floats  higher  and  higher  above  the  tropi- 
cal forest,  flooding  the  seas  of  slumbering  foliage 
with  silver  light.  Hour  follows  upon  hour,  and  in 
the  stockaded  village  all  is  silent  as  with  the  stillness 
of  death.  The  ghastly  remnants  of  that  fearful  feast 
lie  around  in  the  moonbeams — human  bones,  picked 
clean,  yet  expressive  in  their  shape,  spectral,  as  though 
they  would  fain  reunite,  and,  vampire-like,  return  to 
drain  the  life-blood  of  these  human  wolves  who  devour 
their  own  kind.  But  the  sleep  of  the  latter  is  calm, 
peaceful,  secure. 

Secure?  Wait!  What  are  these  stealthy  forms 
rising  noiselessly  among  the  undergrowth  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  clearing?  Are  they  ghosts?  Ghosts  of 
those  thus  barbarously  slain  and  of  many  others  before 
them?  The  moonlit  sward  is  alive  with  flitting 
shapes,  gliding  towards  the  stockade,  surrounding  it 
on  all  sides  with  a  celerity  and  fixity  of  purpose  which 

150 


"THE  DARK  PLACES  OF  THE  EARTH." 

can  have  but  one  meaning.  And  among  them  is  the 
glint  of  metal,  the  shining  of  rifle  barrels  and  spear 
blades. 

The  inhabitants  of  that  village  are  savages,  and 
thus,  for  all  their  flesh-gorged  state  of  heavy  slumber, 
are  instinctively  on  the  alert.  They  wake,  and  rush 
forth  with  wild  yells  of  alarm,  of  warning.  But  to 
many  of  them  it  is  the  last  sound  they  shall  utter, 
for  numberless  forms  are  already  swarming  over  the 
stockade,  and  now  the  stillness  is  rent  by  the  roar  of 
firearms.  Dark,  ferocious  faces  grin  with  exultation 
as  the  panic-stricken  inhabitants,  decimated  by  that 
deadly  volley,  turn  wildly  in  headlong  flight  for  the 
only  side  of  the  stockade  apparently  left  open.  But 
before  these  arises  another  mass  of  assailants,  barring 
their  way,  then  springing  upon  them  spear  in  hand; 
and  the  fiendish  war-whistle  screeches  its  strident 
chorus,  as  the  broad  spears  shear  down  through 
flesh  and  muscle;  and  the  earth  is  slippery  with 
blood,  ghastly  with  writhing  and  disemboweled 
corpses. 

If  this  nest  of  man-eaters  was  hellish  before  in  its 
bloodstained  horror,  words  fail  to  describe  its  aspect 
now.  The  savage  shouts  of  the  assailants,  the  despair- 
ing screeches  of  women  and  children,  who  have  come 
forth  only  to  find  all  escape  cut  off,  the  gasping  groans 
of  the  wounded  and  of  the  slain,  the  gaping  gashes 
and  staggering  forms,  and  ever  around,  grim,  demon- 
like  countenances,  with  teeth  bared  and  a  perfect  hell 
of  blood-fury  gleaming  from  distended  eyeballs. 
All  is  but  another  inferno-picture,  too  common  here 
in  the  dark  places  of  the  earth.  It  seems  that  in  a 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

very  few  minutes  not  a  living  being  in  that  surprised 
village  will  be  left  alive. 

But  now  voices  are  raised  in  remonstrance,  in  com- 
mand— loud  voices,  authoritative  voices — ordering  a 
cessation  of  the  massacre,  for  this  is  no  expedition 
of  vengeance,  but  a  slave-hunting  party.  In  Swahili 
and  Zulu  the  leaders  strive  to  curb  this  blood-rage 
once  let  loose  among  their  followers.  But  the  savage 
Wangoni,  who  are  the  speakers  of  the  latter  tongue 
and  who  constitute  about  half  the  attacking  party, 
have  tasted  slaughter,  and  their  ferocity  is  well-nigh 
beyond  control;  indeed,  but  for  the  fact  of  being 
allowed  to  massacre  a  proportion  of  the  inhabitants 
of  each  place  attacked,  they  could  not  be  enlisted  for 
such  a  purpose  at  all.  Still  their  broad  spears  flash 
in  the  moonlight,  and  all  who  are  in  the  way  feel  them 
— combatants,  shrieking  women,  paralyzed,  crouch- 
ing children;  and  not  until  the  leader  has  threatened 
to  turn  his  rifles  upon  them  will  these  ferocious 
auxiliaries  be  persuaded  to  desist,  and  then  only  sul- 
lenly, and  growling  like  a  pack  of  disappointed 
wolves. 

Fully  one-half  of  the  male  inhabitants  have  been 
slain  and  not  a  few  women  and  children,  and  now, 
as  the  heavy,  sulphurous  fumes  of  powder  smoke  roll 
forth  on  the  still,  solemn  beauty  of  the  night,  and  the 
Wangoni,  reluctantly  quitting  the  congenial  work  of 
plunder  and  rapine,  drive  into  open  space  every  liv- 
ing being  they  can  muster,  the  two  leaders  step 
forward,  and  with  critical  decision  inspect  the  extent 
and  quality  of  their  capture.  Of  the  latter  there  are 
none  but  able-bodied,  for  the  sufficiently  hideous 

152 


"THE  DARK  PLACES  OF  THE  EARTH/' 

reason  already  set  forth.  These  are  drafted  into 
gangs  according  to  age  or  sex,  and  yoked  together 
like  oxen,  with  heavy  wooden  yokes. 

Upon  the  whole  of  this  wild  scene  of  carnage  and 
massacre  the  principal  leader  of  the  slave-hunters  has 
gazed  unmoved.  Not  a  shot  has  he  fired,  not  deem- 
ing it  necessary,  so  complete  was  the  panic  wherewith 
the  cannibal  village  was  overwhelmed.  Rather  have 
his  energies  been  devoted  to  restraining  the  blood- 
thirst  of  his  ferocious  followers,  for  he  looks  upon  the 
tragedy  with  a  cold  commercial  eye.  Prisoners  rep- 
resent so  many  saleable  wares.  If  -  it  is  essential 
that  his  hell-hounds  shall  taste  a  modicum  of  blood, 
or  their  appetite  for  that  species  of  quarry  would  be 
gone,  it  is  his  business  to  see  that  they  destroy  no 
more  "  property  "  than  can  be  avoided. 

The  force  is  made  up  of  Swahili  and  negroid  Arabs, 
and  a  strong  contingent  of  Wangoni — a  Zulu-speak- 
ing tribe,  turbulent,  warlike,  and  to  whom  such  a 
maraud  as  this  comes  as  the  most  congenial  occupa- 
tion in  the  world. 

The  last-named  savages  are  still  looking  through 
the  reed  huts  in  search  of  food,  arms,  anything  port- 
able. If  during  their  quest  they  happen  upon  a  terri- 
fied fugitive  hoping  for  concealment,  their  delight 
knows  no  bounds,  for  have  they  not  the  enjoyment 
of  privily  spearing  such,  away  from  their  leader's  eye? 

The  said  leader  now  gives  the  word  to  march,  and 
as  the  moonlight  pales  into  the  first  grays  of  dawn 
the  scene  of  the  massacre  becomes  plain  in  all  its 
appalling  detail.  Corpses  ripped  and  slashed,  lying 
around  in  every  contorted  attitude,  among  broken 

153 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

weapons  and  strewn  about  articles  of  clothing  or 
furniture.  Everywhere  blood — the  ground  is  slip- 
pery with  it,  the  huts  are  splashed  with  it,  the  persons 
and  weapons  of  the  raiders  are  all  horrid  with  it;  and 
in  the  midst  that  band  of  men  and  women  yoked  like 
cattle,  and  with  the  same  hopeless,  stolid  expression 
now  upon  their  countenances.  Yet  they  are  not 
dejected.  Their  lives  have  been  spared  where  others 
have  been  slain.  But  they  are  slaves. 

"  Bid  farewell  to  home,  O  foul  and  evil  dogs  who 
devour  each  other,"  jeer  the  savage  Wangoni,  as 
these  are  driven  forth.  "  Whau!  Ye  shall  keep  each 
other  in  meat  on  the  way.  Ha,  ha!  For  in  truth  ye 
are  as  fat  oxen  to  each  other,"  pointing  with  their 
broad  spears  to  the  gruesome  trees  and  crossbeam — 
the  scene  of  the  hideous  cannibal  slaughter.  For  the 
Wangoni,  by  virtue  of  their  Zulu  origin,  hold  canni- 
balism in  the  deepest  horror  and  aversion. 

These  barbarians  now,  humming  a  bass  war-song 
as  they  march,  are  in  high  glee,  for  there  are  more 
villages  to  raid.  And  as  the  whole  party  moves  forth 
from  the  glade  once  more  to  plunge  within  the  forest 
gloom,  the  air  is  alive  with  the  circling  of  carrion 
birds;  and  the  newly  risen  sun  darts  his  first  arrowy 
beam  upon  the  scene  of  horror,  lighting  up  the  red 
gore  and  the  slain  corpses,  and  the  ghastly  staring 
heads  upon  the  gateway.  Even  as  his  last  ray  fell 
upon  a  tragedy  of  blood  and  of  cruelty  so  now  does 
his  first,  for  in  truth  this  is  one  of  the  "  dark  places 
of  the  earth." 


J54 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    MAN    HUNTERS. 

FOR  some  three  hours  the  party  moves  forward 
through  the  forest  shades.  Then  a  halt  is  called,  and, 
sentinels  having  been  posted,  soon  the  smoke  of 
bivouac  fires  ascends,  and  the  clatter  of  cooking 
utensils  mingles  with  the  hum  of  many  voices. 

The  place  selected  is  an  open  glade  or  clearing, 
overhung  on  one  side  by  hoary  masses  of  rock.  The 
slave-hunters,  as  we  have  said,  are  divided  into  two 
sections,  one  consisting  of  negroid  Arabs  and  Wa- 
Swahili,  believers  in  the  Prophet  mostly,  and  clad  in 
array  once  gaudy  but  now  soiled  and  tarnished,  some 
few,  however,  wearing  the  white  haik  and  burnous; 
the  other  of  Wangoni,  stalwart,  martial  savages, 
believers  in  nothing  and  clad  in  not  much  more. 
These  form  camps  apart,  for  at  heart  each  section 
despises  the  other,  though  for  purposes  of  self-interest 
temporarily  welded.  A  few,  but  very  few,  are  Arabs 
of  pure  blood. 

One  of  these  is  now  engaged  in  converse  with  the 
leader  of  the  party.  He  is  a  tall,  dignified,  keen-faced 
man,  with  eyes  as  piercing  as  those  of  a  hawk,  and 
his  speech  is  sparing.  But  if  his  words  are  few  his 
deeds  are  many,  and  the  name  of  Lutali — which,  how- 
ever, he  makes  no  secret  is  not  his  real  name — is 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

known  and  feared  at  least  as  far  and  as  thoroughly 
as  that  of  the  chief  of  the  slavers  himself. 

For  the  latter,  one  glance  at  him  is  sufficient  to 
show  that  if  ever  man  was  born  to  rule  with  firm  but 
judicious  hand  such  a  gang  of  bloodthirsty  free- 
booters it  is  this  one.  The  vigour  of  his  powerful 
frame  is  apparent  with  every  movement,  and  the 
strength  and  fixity  of  will  expressed  in  his  keen  dark 
face  there  is  no  mistaking.  But  the  black,  piercing 
eyes  and  bronzed  features  belong  to  no  Arab,  no  half 
caste.  He  is  a  white  man,  a  European. 

Stay!  To  be  accurate,  there  is  just  a  strain  of  Arab 
in  him;  faint,  indeed,  as  of  several  generations  inter- 
vening, yet  real  enough  to  qualify  him  for  mysterious 
rites  of  blood  brotherhood  with  some  of  the  most 
powerful  chiefs  from  Tanganyika  to  Khartoum.  And 
throughout  the  Congo  territory,  and  many  an  equa- 
torial tribe  beyond,  this  man's  name  has  been  known 
and  feared.  No  leader  of  slave-hunters  can  come 
near  him  for  bold  and  wide-sweeping  raids,  the  terror 
and  unexpectedness  of  which,  together  with  the  com- 
plete and  ruthless  fixity  of  purpose  wherewith  the 
objects  of  them,  however  strong,  however  alert,  are 
struck  and  promptly  subjugated,  have  gained  for  him 
among  his  followers  and  allies  the  sobriquet  of  El 
Khanac,  "  The  Strangler."  But  the  reader — together 
with  Johannesburg  at  large — knows  him  under  an- 
other name,  and  that  is  "  Pirate  "  Hazon. 

"  Is  it  prudent,  think  you,  Lutali?  "  he  is  saying. 
"  Consider.  These  Wajalu  are  a  trifle  too  near  the 
land  of  the  Ba-gcatya.  Indeed,  we  ourselves  are  too 
near  it  now,  and  a  day's  journey  or  more  in  the  same 

156 


THE    MAN    HUNTERS. 

direction  is  it  not  to  run  our  heads  into  the  jaws  of 
the  lion?" 

"  Allah  is  great,  my  brother,"  replies  the  Arab,  with 
a  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "  But  I  would  ask,  what 
have  we,  in  our  numbers  and  with  arms  such  as  these," 
gripping  significantly  his  Express  rifle,  "  to  fear  from 
those  devil-worshippers  armed  with  spears  and 
shields — yea,  even  the  whole  nation  of  them?" 

"  Yet  I  have  seen  an  army  of  the  nation  of  which 
those  '  devil-worshippers  '  are  sprung,  armed  only  with 
spears  and  shields,  eat  up  a  force  three  times  as  large 
as  our  own  and  infinitely  better  armed,  I  being  one 
of  the  few  who  escaped.  And  '  The  People  of  the 
Spider '  cannot,  from  all  accounts,  be  inferior  to  the 
stock  whence  they  came." 

Lutali  shrugs  his  shoulders  again. 

"  It  may  be  so,"  he  says,  "  yet  there  is  a  large 
village  of  these  Wajalu  which  would  prove  an  easy 
capture  and  would  complete  the  number  we  need." 

"  Then  let  us  chance  it,"  is  Hazon's  rejoinder. 

The  Arab  makes  a  murmur  of  assent  and  stalks 
away  to  his  own  people,  while  Hazon  returns  to  where 
he  has  left  his  white  colleague. 

"  Well,  Holmes,  according  to  Lutali,  they  are  bent 
on  risking  it,"  he  begins,  throwing  himself  upon  a  rug 
and  proceeding  to  fill  a  pipe. 

"  Are  they?  I'm  not  altogether  glad,  yet  if  it  tends 
towards  hurrying  us  out  of  this  butchery  line  of  busi- 
ness I'm  not  altogether  sorry.  I  think  I  hate  it  more 
and  more  every  day." 

"  It  isn't  a  bad  line  of  business,  Holmes,"  returns 
Hazon,  completely  ignoring  the  smothered  reproach- 
is? 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

fulness,  resentment  even,  underlying  the  tone  and 
reply.  "  Come,  now,  you've  made  a  goodish  bit  of 
money  the  short  time  you  have  been  at  it.  Anyhow, 
I  want  to  know  in  what  other  you  would  have  made 
anything  like  as  much  in  the  time.  Not  in  fooling 
with  those  rotten  swindling  stocks  at  the  Rand,  for 
instance?  " 

"  Maybe  not.  But  we  haven't  realized  yet.  In 
other  words,  we  are  not  safe  out  of  the  wood  yet, 
Hazon,  and  so  it's  too  soon  to  hulloa.  I  don't  believe 
we  are  going  to  get  off  so  easily,"  he  adds. 

"  Are  you  going  to  get  on  your  croaking  horse 
again,  and  threaten  us  with  '  judgments  '  and  '  curses/ 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing?  "  rejoins  the  other,  with  a 
good-humoured  laugh.  "  Why,  man,  we  are  philan- 
thropists— real  philanthropists.  And  I  never  heard 
of  '  judgments  '  and  '  curses  '  being  showered  upon 
such." 

"  Philanthropists,  are  we?  That's  a  good  idea. 
But  where,  by  the  way,  does  the  philanthropy  come 
in?" 

"  Why,  just  here."  Then,  impressively,  "  Listen, 
now,  Holmes.  Carry  your  mind  back  to  all  the 
sights  you  have  seen  since  we  came  up  the  Lualaba 
until  now.  Have  you  forgotten  that  round  dozen  of 
niggers  we  happened  on,  buried  in  the  ground  up  to 
their  necks,  and  when  we  had  dug  up  one  fellow  we 
found  we  had  taken  a  lot  of  trouble  for  nothing  be- 
cause he'd  got  his  arms  and  legs  broken.  The  same 
held  good  of  all  the  others,  except  that  some  were 
mutilated  as  well.  You  remember  how  sick  it  made 
you  coming  upon  those  heads  in  the  half  darkness;  or 

158 


THE   MAN    HUNTERS. 

those  quarters  of  a  human  body  swinging  from 
branches,  to  which  their  owner  had  been  spliced  so 
that,  in  springing  back,  the  boughs  should  drag  him 
asunder,  as  in  fact  they  did?  Or  the  sight  of  people 
feeding  on  the  flesh  of  their  own  blood  relations,  and 
many  and  many  another  spectacle  no  more  amusing? 
Well,  then,  these  barbarities  were  practised  by  no 
wicked  slave-raiders,  mind,  but  by  the  '  quiet,  harm- 
less '  people  upon  each  other.  And  they  are  of  every- 
day occurrence.  Well,  then,  in  capturing  these  gentle 
souls,  and  deporting  them — for  a  price — whither  they 
will  perforce  be  taught  better  manners,  we  are  acting 
the  part  of  real  philanthropists.  Do  you  catch  on?  " 

"  What  of  those  we  kill?  Those  Wangoni  brutes 
are  never  happy  unless  killing." 

"  That  is  inevitable  and  is  the  law  of  life,  which  is 
always  hard.  And,  as  Lutali  would  say,  who  may 
fight  against  his  destiny?  Not  that  I  mean  to  say 
we  embarked  in  this  business  from  motives  of  philan- 
thropy, friend  Holmes;  I  only  cite  the  argument  as 
one  to  quiet  that  singularly  inconvenient  conscience 
of  yours.  We  did  so,  Stanninghame  and  I,  at  any 
rate,  to  make  money — quickly,  and  plenty  of  it;  and 
I'm  not  sure  Stanninghame  doesn't  need  it  more  than 
you  and  I  put  together." 

"  By-the-by,  I  wonder  what  on  earth  has  become 
of  Stanninghame  all  this  time? "  said  Holmes,  ap- 
parently glad  to  quit  an  unprofitable  subject. 

"  So  do  I.  He  ought  to  have  joined  us  by  now. 
He  is  just  a  trifle  foolhardy,  is  Stanninghame,  in 
knocking  about  so  far  afield  alone,"  and  a  shade  of 
anxiety  steals  over  the  speaker's  face. 

159 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

Holmes  makes  no  reply,  and  for  a  while  lies  back 
on  his  rug,  puffing  away  at  his  pipe  and  busy  with 
his  thoughts.  These  are  not  altogether  pleasant. 
The  process  which  had  transformed  the  fine,  open- 
natured,  wholesome-hearted  young  Englishman  into 
a  slave-hunter,  the  confederate  of  ruthless  cut-throats 
and  desperadoes,  had,  in  truth,  been  such  as  to  en- 
gender the  reverse  of  pleasant  thoughts.  Yet,  that  he 
had  come  to  this  was  rather  the  fault  of  circumstances 
than  the  fault  of  Holmes.  He  had  enjoyed  the  big 
game  shooting  and  the  ivory  trading  of  the  earlier 
stage  of  the  trip,  the  more  so  from  the  consciousness 
that  there  was  profit  in  both;  and  when  a  large  cara- 
van of  the  above  and  other  legitimate  merchandise 
had  been  run  down  to  the  coast,  he  had  steadfastly 
refused  to  take  the  opportunity  of  parting  company 
with  the  others.  Then  when  they  had  pushed  farther 
into  the  equatorial  regions,  and,  joining  with  Lutali, 
had  embarked  on  their  present  enterprise,  all  oppor- 
tunity of  withdrawing  had  gone.  The  precise  point 
at  which  he  had  cast  in  his  lot  with  this,  Holmes  could 
not  with  certainty  define.  Yet  there  were  times  when 
he  thought  he  could.  He  had  relieved  his  conscience 
with  indignant,  passionate  protest,  when  first  his  eyes 
became  fairly  opened  to  the  real  nature  of  the  enter- 
prise; and  then  had  supervened  that  terrible  bout  of 
malarial  fever,  his  tardy  recovery  from  which  he  owed 
entirely  to  the  care  and  nursing  of  both  Hazon  and 
Stanninghame.  But  it  left  him  for  a  long  time  weak- 
ened in  mind  and  will  no  less  than  in  body,  and  what 
could  he  do  but  succumb  to  the  inevitable?  Yet  he 
had  never  entered  into  the  sinister  undertaking  with 

160 


THE   MAN    HUNTERS. 

the  whole-heartedness  of  his  two  conscienceless  con- 
federates, and  of  this  the  latter  were  aware. 

However,  of  his  scruples  they  were  tolerant 
enough.  He  was  brimful  of  pluck,  and  seemed  to 
enjoy  the  situation  when  they  were  attacked  by  over- 
whelming odds  and  had  to  fight  hard  and  fiercely, 
such  as  befell  more  than  once.  And  they  would  insidi- 
ously lay  salve  to  his  misgivings  by  such  arguments 
as  we  have  just  heard  Hazon  adduce,  or  by  reminding 
him  of  the  fortune  they  were  making,  or  even  of  the 
physical  advantage  he  was  deriving  from  the  trip. 

The  latter,  indeed,  was  a  fact.  The  life  in  the  open, 
the  varying  climates,  frequent  and  inevitable  hardships 
and  never-absent  peril,  had  made  their  mark  upon 
Holmes.  Once  recovered  from  his  attack,  he  began 
to  put  on  flesh  and  muscle,  and  his  eyes  were  clear 
and  bright  with  that  keen  alertness  which  is  the  result 
of  peril  as  a  constant  companion.  In  short,  as  they 
said,  he  looked  twice  the  man  he  had  done  when 
lounging  around  the  Stock  Exchange  or  the  liquor 
bars  of  Johannesburg. 

Through  the  hot  hours  of  noontide  the  raiders  lie 
at  their  ease.  Many  are  asleep,  others  conversing  in 
drowsy  tones,  smoking  or  chewing  tobacco.  The 
Wangoni  divide  their  time  about  equally  between  tak- 
ing snuff  and  jeering  at  and  teasing  the  unfortunate 
captives.  These,  crouching  on  the  ground,  relieved 
during  the  halt  of  their  heavy  forked  yokes,  endure 
it  all  with  the  stoicism  of  the  most  practical  phase  of 
humanity — the  savage.  No  good  is  to  be  got  out  of 
bewailing  their  lot,  therefore  they  do  not  bewail  it; 

161 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

moreover,  belonging  to  a  savage  race,  and  far  from 
the  highest  type  of  the  same,  they  have  no  thought  of 
the  future,  and  are  thus  spared  the  discomfort  and 
anxiety  of  speculating  as  to  what  it  may  contain  for 
xthem.  Indeed,  their  chief  anxiety  at  this  moment  is 
that  of  food,  of  which  they  would  fain  have  more,  and 
gaze  with  wistful  eyes  upon  their  captors,  who  are 
feasting  on  the  remnant  of  what  was  until  lately  their 
own  property.  But  the  latter  jeeringly  suggest  to 
them  the  expediency  of  their  devouring  each  other, 
since  they  seem  to  have  a  preference  for  such  diet. 

Then,  as  the  sun's  rays  abate  somewhat  in  fierce- 
ness, the  temporary  camp  is  struck.  Bearers  take  up 
their  loads,  fighters  look  to  their  arms,  the  soiled  and 
gaudy  finery  of  the  semi-civilized  sons  of  the  Prophet 
contrasting  with  the  shining  skins  of  the  naked  Wan- 
goni,  even  as  the  Winchester  and  Snider  rifles  and 
great  sheath-knives  and  revolvers  of  the  first  do  with 
the  broad  spears  and  tufted  hide  shields  of  the  latter. 
And  with  the  files  of  dejected-looking  slaves,  yoked 
together  in  their  heavy  wooden  forks,  or  chained  only, 
the  whole  caravan,  numbering  now  some  six  hundred 
souls,  moves  onward. 

But  in  the  mind  of  the  principal  of  the  two  white 
leaders,  as  he  traces  a  cipher  on  the  scene  of  their 
recent  halt,  and  in  that  of  the  other,  who  watches  him, 
is  present,  now  with  deepening  anxiety,  the  same 
thought,  the  same  speculation:  What  has  become  of 
the  third? 


162 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A    DREAM. 

UNDER  the  shade  of  a  large  tree-fern  a  man  is  lying 
asleep. 

Around  the  wilderness  spreads  in  rolling  undula- 
tion, open  here  for  the  most  part,  though  dotted  with 
clumps  of  bush  and  trees,  which  seem  to  have  become 
detached  from  the  dark  line  of  forest.  This,  on  the 
one  hand,  stretches  away  into  endless  blue;  on  the 
other  a  broad  expanse  of  water — apparently  a  fine 
river,  actually  a  chain  of  lagoons — with  reed-fringed 
banks;  and  here  and  there  a  low  spit,  where  red 
flamingoes  roost  lazily  on  one  leg.  Beyond  this  again 
lies  an  unbroken  line  of  forest. 

The  man  is  arrayed  in  the  simple  costume  of  the 
wilderness — a  calico  shirt,  and  moleskin  trousers  pro- 
tected by  leather  leggings.  A  broad-brimmed  hat 
lies  under  his  head,  to  which,  indeed,  it  serves  as  sole 
pillow.  He  is  heavily  armed*  The  right  hand  still 
grips  an  Express  rifle  in  mute  suggestion  of  one 
accustomed  to  slumber  in  the  midst  of  peril.  A 
revolver  in  a  holster  rests  beside  him,  and  in  his 
leathern  belt  is  a  strong  sheath  knife.  Now  and 
again  he  moves  in  his  sleep,  and  at  such  times  his 
unarmed  hand  seems  instinctively  to  seek  out  some- 
thing which  is  concealed  from  view,  possibly  some- 

163 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

thing  which  is  suspended  round  his  neck  by  that  light 
but  strong  chain.  Thus  hour  after  hour  rolls  over 
him,  as  he  slumbers  on  in  the  burning  equatorial  heat. 

The  sleeper  turns  again  uneasily,  and  as  he  does 
so  his  hand  again  seeks  the  steel  chain  just  visible 
through  his  open  shirt,  and,  instinctively  working 
down  it,  closes  over  that  which  is  secured  thereto; 
then,  as  though  the  effect  is  lulling,  once  more  he  is 
still  again,  slumbering  easily,  peacefully. 

The  sun's  rays,  slanting  now,  dart  in  beneath  the 
scanty  shade  of  the  tree-fern,  and  as  they  burn  upon 
the  dark  face,  bronzed  and  hardened  by  climate  and 
toil,  the  sleeper's  lips  are  moving,  and  a  peculiarly 
soft  and  wistful  expression  seems  to  rest  upon  the 
firm  features.  Then  his  eyes  open  wide.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  lies,  staring  up  at  the  green  fronds  which 
afford  shade  no  longer,  then  starts  up  into  a  sitting 
posture.  And  simultaneous  with  the  movement  here 
and  there  a  faint  circular  ripple  widens  on  the  slimy 
surface  of  the  lagoon,  as  each  of  those  dark  specks, 
representing  the  snout  of  a  basking  crocodile,  vanishes. 

Laurence  Stanninghame's  outward  aspect  has 
undergone  some  change  since  last  we  beheld  it,  now 
more  than  two  years  ago.  The  expression  of  the 
dark,  firm  face,  burned  and  bronzed  by  an  equatorial 
sun,  heavily  bearded  too,  has  become  hard  and  ruth- 
less, and  there  is  a  quick  alertness  in  the  penetrating 
glance  of  the  clear  eyes  which  tells  of  an  ever-present 
familiarity  with  peril.  Even  the  movement  of  sitting 
up,  of  suddenly  awakening  from  sleep,  yet  being  wide 
awake  in  a  moment,  contains  unconsciously  more  than 
a  suggestion  of  this. 

164 


A   DREAM. 

A  rapid,  careful  look  on  all  sides.  Nothing  is  stir- 
ring in  the  sultry,  penetrating  heat;  the  palmetto 
thatch  of  clustering  huts  away  beyond  the  opposite 
bank  might  contain  no  life  for  all  of  it  they  show. 
Hardly  a  bird  twittering  in  the  reeds  but  does  so 
half  heartedly.  The  man's  face  softens  again,  taking 
on  the  expression  it  wore  while  he  slept. 

While  he  slept!  Why  could  he  not  have  slept  on 
forever,  he  thought,  his  whole  being  athrill  with  the 
memory  revived  by  his  dreams?  For  his  dreams 
had  been  sweet — wildly,  entrancingly  sweet.  Seldom, 
indeed,  were  such  vouchsafed  to  him;  but  when  they 
were  their  effect  would  last,  would  last  vividly.  He 
would  treasure  up  their  recollection,  would  go  back 
upon  it. 

Now,  slumbering  there  in  the  torrid  heat,  by  the 
reed-fringed,  crocodile-haunted  lagoon,  his  dreams 
had  wafted  him  into  a  more  than  Paradise.  Eyes, 
starry  with  a  radiant  love-light,  had  laughed  into  his; 
around  his  neck  the  twining  of  arms,  and  the  soft, 
caressing  touch  of  soothing  hands  upon  his  life- 
weary  head ;  the  whisper  of  love-tones,  deep,  burning, 
tremulous,  into  his  ear.  And  from  this  he  had  awak- 
ened, had  awakened  to  the  reality — to  the  weird  and 
depressing  surroundings  of  human  life  in  its  most 
cruel  and  debased  form ;  to  the  recollection  of  scenes 
of  recurring  and  hideous  peril,  of  pitiless  atrocity, 
which  seemed  to  render  the  burning,  brassy  glare 
even  as  the  glare  of  hell;  and  to  the  consciousness  of 
similar  scenes  now  immediately  impending.  Yet  the 
remembrance  of  that  sleeping  vision  shut  him  in,  sur- 
rounded him  as  with  a  very  halo,  sweet,  fragrant, 

165 


THE   SIGN    OF   THE   SPIDER. 

enthralling,  rolling  around  his  soul  as  a  cloud  of  in- 
toxicating ether. 

Upon  a  temperament  such  as  that  of  Laurence 
Stanninghame  the  life  of  the  past  two  years  was 
bound  to  tell.  The  hot  African  glow,  the  adventurous 
life,  with  peril  continually  for  a  fellow-traveller,  a 
familiarity  with  weird  and  shocking  deeds,  an  utter 
indifference  to  human  suffering  and  human  life,  had 
strangely  affected  his  inner  self.  Callous  to  the  woes 
of  others,  yet  high  strung  to  a  degree,  his  nature  at 
this  time  presented  a  stage  of  complexity  which  was 
utterly  baffling.  That  mesmeric  property  to  which 
Hazon  had  alluded  more  than  once  as  one  of  the 
effects  of  the  interior  was  upon  him  too.  It  seemed 
as  though  he  had  somehow  passed  into  another  world, 
so  dulled  was  all  recollection  of  his  former  life,  all 
desire  to  recall  it.  Yet  one  memory  remained  un- 
dimmed. 

"  Lilith,  my  soul!  "  he  murmured,  his  eyes  wander- 
ing over  the  brassy,  glaring  expanse  of  water  and 
dried-up  reed-bed,  as  though  to  annihilate  space  and 
distance.  "  Lilith,  my  life!  It  is  time  I  looked  once 
more  upon  that  dear  face  which  rendered  my  dreams 
so  sweet." 

His  hand,  still  clasping  something  within  his  breast, 
was  drawn  forth,  that  which  hung  by  the  steel  chain 
still  inclosed  within  it.  A  small,  flat  metal  box  it 
was,  oblong  in  shape,  and  shutting  so  tightly  that  at 
first  glance  it  was  hard  to  see  where  it  opened  at  all. 
But  open  it  did,  for  now  he  is  holding  what  it  con- 
tains— holding  it  lovingly,  almost  reverently,  in  the 
palm  of  his  hand.  It  is  a  little  case,  green  velvet 

166 


A   DREAM. 

worked  with  flowers,  and  in  the  center,  spreading 
fantastically  in  spidery  pattern  in  dark  maroon,  is  a 
monogram — Lilith's.  And  in  like  manner  is  this 
same  monogram  inlaid  upon  the  lid. 

Two  tiny  portraits  it  contains  when  opened — 
photographic  portraits,  small,  yet  clear  and  delicate 
as  miniatures.  Lilith's  eyes  gaze  forth,  seeming  to 
shine  from  the  inanimate  cardboard  as  though  with 
the  love-light  of  gladness;  Lilith's  beautiful  form, 
erect  in  characteristic  attitude,  the  head  slightly 
thrown  back,  the  sweet  lips  compressed,  just  a  touch  of 
sadness  in  their  serenity,  as  though  dwelling  upon  the 
recollection  of  that  last  parting;  even  the  soft  curling 
waves  of  hair,  rippling  back  from  the  temples,  are  life- 
like in  the  clearness  of  the  portrait. 

The  strong,  sweet  dream-wave  still  enclouding  his 
brain,  Laurence  stands  gazing  upon  these,  and  his 
heart  is  as  though  enwrapped  with  a  dull  tightening 
pain. 

"Sorceress!  and  does  the  spell  still  enthral  me 
here?"  he  murmurs,  "here,  and  after  all  this  time. 
Have  you  forgotten  me?  Perhaps.  No,  that  cannot 
be  and  yet — Time!  Time  dulls  everything.  Time 
brings  changes.  Perhaps  even  the  memory  of  me 
is  waning,  is  becoming  dulled." 

But  the  softening  love-light  in  the  pictured  eyes 
seems  to  contradict  the  conjecture.  Here,  in  the  hot 
brassy  glare  of  the  far  wilderness,  in  the  haunts  of 
bloodshed  and  wrong,  that  sweet,  pure  image  seems 
clothed  as  with  a  divinity  to  his  hungry  gaze. 

"Others  can  see  you  in  life;  others  can  hear  the 
music  of  your  voice,  my  beloved;  others  can  look 

167 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

into  the  light  of  those  eyes,  can  melt  to  the  radiance 
of  your  smile,  while  I — only  the  image  is  mine,  the 
tiny  oblong  of  hard  inanimate  cardboard,"  he  mur- 
murs, in  a  tone  that  is  half  weariful,  half  passionate. 
"  And  now  for  the  words!  " 

A  slip  of  folded  paper  occupies  the  side  of  the  little 
tin  box.  This  he  extracts  and  unfolds  with  a  touch 
that  is  almost  reverent,  and,  as  his  eyes  wander  over 
the  writing,  his  every  faculty  of  soul  and  mind  and 
being  is  concentrated  in  rapt  love  upon  each  word. 
For  not  every  day  will  he  suffer  his  eyes  to  rest  upon 
them,  lest  too  great  familiarity  with  them  should  dull 
them  with  a  mechanical  nature  when  seen  so  often. 
They  are  kept  for  rare  occasions,  and  now,  his  waking 
thoughts  sweet  with  the  influence  of  the  recent  dream, 
he  reckons  just  such  an  occasion. 

The  history  of  the  box,  the  portraits,  the  letter,  was 
a  strange  one.  After  that  last  parting,  as  Laurence 
was  wending  his  way  in  the  darkness,  he  became 
aware  that  his  breast  pocket  contained  something 
which  was  not  there  before.  He  drew  it  forth.  It 
was  small,  flat,  hard,  oblong.  By  the  light  of  suc- 
cessive vestas  he  proceeded  to  investigate,  and  there, 
in  the  flickering  glow,  Lilith's  sweet  eyes  gazed  out 
at  him  from  the  cardboard,  daintily  framed  within  the 
work  of  her  fingers,  even  as  here  in  the  burning  glare 
of  the  equatorial  sun;  and  there,  too,  within  the  box, 
lay  a  folded  slip  of  paper  covered  with  her  hand- 
writing— her  last  words  to  him,  drawing  out,  per- 
petuating the  echo  of  her  last  spoken  ones.  With 
a  thrill  of  love  and  pain,  he  had  stood  there  in  the 
darkness  until  his  last  vesta  had  burned  out,  and  then 

168 


A   DREAM. 

the  letter  was  not  half  read,  but  from  that  moment  the 
box  and  its  contents  had  rested  upon  his  heart  day 
and  night — through  scenes  of  blood  and  of  woe, 
through  every  conceivable  phase  of  hardship  and 
starvation  and  peril — had  rested  there  as  a  charm,  or 
amulet,  which  should  shield  him  from  harm.  And 
as  such,  indeed,  its  donor  had  intended  it. 

And  now  his  eyes,  wandering  over  the  paper,  as 
though  devouring  every  word,  are  nearing  the  end: 

"  Does  this  come  as  a  surprise,  my  darling — a  very 
sweet  surprise?  [it  ran.]  I  mean  it  to  be  that.  '  Is 
it  for  good  or  for  ill,  this  love  of  ours?  '  you  have  said. 
Surely  for  good.  Keep,  then,  this  image  of  me,  my 
beloved.  Never  part  with  it,  day  or  night,  and  may 
it  ever,  by  the  very  strength  of  my  love  for  you,  be 
as  a  talisman — a  '  charm  ' — to  stand  between  you  and 
all  peril,  as  you  say  the  mental  image  of  me  has 
already  done;  how,  I  cannot  see,  but  it  is  enough  for 
me  that  you  say  so.  And  the  consciousness  that  I 
should  have  been  the  means  of  averting  evil  from  you 
is  sweet,  unutterably  so.  May  it  continue,  and 
strengthen  me  as  it  will  mysteriously  shield,  you, 
while  we  are  far  apart.  My  Laurence!  my  ideal! — 
yes,  you  are  that ;  the  very  moment  my  eyes  first  met 
the  firm  full  gaze  of  yours  I  recognized  it.  I  knew 
what  you  were,  and  my  heart  went  out  to  you." 

The  blood  surged  hotly,  in  a  dark  flush,  beneath 
Laurence  Stanninghame's  bronzed  face,  as  he  pic- 
tured the  full  force  and  passion  of  those  parting  utter- 
ances murmured  into  his  ear  instead  of  confided  only 

169 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

to  cold,  inanimate  paper;  then  the  demon  of  cynicism 
ingrained  within  him  came  uppermost  with  hateful 
and  haunting  suggestions: 

"  She  is  safe?  Yes.  But  those  words  were  penned 
more  than  two  years  ago.  More  than  two  years  ago ! 
That  is  a  long  time  for  one  in  the  full  glow  of  her 
glorious  youth.  More  than  two  years  ago!  And  in 
the  joy  and  delight  of  living,  what  charm  has  the 
memory — the  daily  fading  memory — of  the  absent  for 
such  as  she?  Think  of  it,  oh,  fool,  not  yet  free  from 
the  shackles  of  the  last  illusion!  Think  of  circum- 
stances, of  surroundings,  of  temperament,  above  all, 
of  such  a  temperament  as  hers!  Is  your  mature 
knowledge  of  life  to  go  for  nothing  that  you  are  so 
easily  fooled?  Ha,  Ha!  " 

Thus  laughed  the  demon  voice  in  mocking  gibe. 
But  he — no,  he  would  not  listen;  he  would  stifle  it. 
Those  words  were  the  outcome  of  one  love — the  love 
of  a  lifetime,  and  nothing  less. 

Suddenly,  with  multifold  splash,  and  a  great  win- 
nowing of  wings,  a  flight  of  cranes  and  egrets  arose 
from  the  bank  some  little  distance  farther  down. 
Dark  forms  were  moving  among  the  reeds.  All  the 
instincts  of  a  constant  familiarity  with  peril  alert 
within  him,  Laurence  had  in  a  moment  replaced  the 
case  and  its  contents.  His  Express  was  grasped  in 
readiness  as  he  peered  forth  eagerly  from  his  place 
of  concealment.  He  was  the  crafty,  ruthless  slaver 
once  more. 

Then  the  expression,  stealthy,  resolute,  which  his 
discovery  had  evoked,  faded,  giving  way  to  one  of 
half-interested  curiosity,  as  he  saw  that  the  potential 

170 


A   DREAM. 

enemies — more  or  less  redoubtable  assailants — were 
merely  a  few  small  boys,  wandering  along  the  reed- 
fringed  bank,  jabbering  light-heartedly  as  they 
strolled. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  splash,  a  smothered  cry,  and 
a  loud  burst  of  shrill  laughter.  The  sooty  imps  were 
dancing  and  capering  with  glee,  gazing  at  and  chaff- 
ing one  of  their  number  who  had  fallen  from  the 
bank — high  and  perpendicular  there — into  the  water 
among  the  reeds.  But  almost  as  suddenly  the  cachin- 
nations  turned  to  a  sharp  yell  of  terror  and  warning. 
The  reeds  swayed  in  a  quivering  line  of  undulation, 
as  though  something  were  moving  through  them — 
something  swift  and  mighty  and  terrible — and  so  it 
was.  The  black  boy,  who  could  swim  like  a  fish,  had 
thrown  himself  clear  of  the  reeds,  deeming  his  chances 
better  in  the  open  water,  but  after  him,  its  long  grisly 
snout  and  cruel  beady  eyes  flush  with  the  surface, 
glided  a  large  crocodile. 

Half  instinctively  the  unseen  spectator  put  up  his 
piece,  then  dropped  it  again.  He  might  shoot  the 
reptile,  but  what  then?  All  their  plans  would  be 
upset — the  villages  would  be  alarmed,  and  his  own 
life  greatly  jeopardized.  Too  steep  a  price  by  far  to 
pay,  to  save  one  wretched  little  black  imp  from  being 
devoured  by  a  crocodile,  he  told  himself.  The  road 
to  wealth  did  not  lie  that  way;  and  the  cruel  sneer 
that  drooped  his  lips  as  he  lowered  his  weapon  was 
not  good  to  behold,  as  he  stood  up  to  witness  the  end 
of  this  impromptu  hunt,  whose  quarry  was  human. 

The  boys  on  the  bank  were  shouting  and  scream- 
ing, partly  for  help,  partly  in  the  hope  of  scaring 

171 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

the  hideous  saurian.  That  wily  reptile,  however, 
heeded  them  not  one  atom.  His  great  jaws  opened 
and  closed  with  a  snap — but  not  on  the  crunch  of 
human  flesh,  not  on  the  crackle  of  human  bones. 
The  wretched  little  native,  with  incredible  dexterity, 
had  swerved  and  dived,  just  eluding  the  hungry  jaws 
by  no  more  than  a  hair's  breadth.  But  to  what  avail? 

For  the  smooth  surface  of  the  lagoon  was  now  rip- 
pling into  long  furrow-like  waves.  Dark  objects  were 
gliding  through  the  water  with  noiseless  rapidity, 
converging  on  the  point  where  the  human  quarry 
had  now  risen  to  breathe.  More  of  the  dreadful 
reptiles,  with  which  the  lagoons  were  swarming,  had 
found  out  there  was  prey,  and  were  bearing  down  to 
obtain  their  share.  From  his  concealment,  Laurence 
could  see  it  all — the  glistening  of  the  hideous  snouts, 
the  round  woolly  head  and  staring,  terror-stricken 
eyeballs  of  the  miserable  little  "victim.  Then,  with  a 
wild,  piercing,  soul-curdling  shriek,  the  latter  disap- 
peared, and  there  arose  to  the  surface  a  boil  of  foam, 
bubbling  upon  the  slimy  water  in  a  bright  red  stain. 
Below,  in  the  depths,  the  crocodiles  were  rending 
asunder  their  unexpected  prey. 

"  The  moral  of  that  episode,"  said  the  concealed 
spectator  to  himself,  as  he  turned  away,  "  is  that  little 
boys  should  not  play  too  near  the  bank.  No,  there 
is  yet  another — the  incredibly  short  space  of  time  in 
which  the  refined  and  civilized  being  can  turn  into  a 
stony-hearted  demon;  and  the  causes  which  accom- 
plish such  transmogrification  are  twain — the  parting 
with  all  his  illusions,  and  the  parting  with  all  his 
cash." 

172 


A   DREAM. 

These  ruminations  were  cut  short  in  a  manner  that 
was  violent,  not  to  say  alarming.  Two  spears  whizzed 
past  him  with  a  vicious,  angry  hiss,  one  burying  itself 
deep  in  the  stem  of  the  tree-fern  just  behind  him,  the 
other  flying  into  empty  space,  but  grazing  his  ear  by 
very  few  inches  indeed.  Then,  in  the  wild,  barking, 
hoarse-throated  yell,  blood-curdling  in  its  note  of  hate 
and  fury,  Laurence  Stanninghame  realized  that  he 
was  in  a  tight  place — a  very  tight  place. 


173 


CHAPTER   XV. 

AN    AWAKENING. 

TEN  or  a  dozen  tall  savages  were  advancing 
through  the  somewhat  sparse  scrub.  Yielding  to  a 
first  impulse  of  self-preservation,  Laurence,  quick  as 
thought,  stepped  behind  the  stem  of  the  tree-fern. 
Then  he  peered  forth. 

His  first  glance,  keen  and  quick,  took  in  every 
detail.  His  assailants  were  fine  warrior-like  men, 
ferocious  looking,  in  great  crested  headgear  of 
plumes.  Their  bodies  were  adorned  with  cowhair 
circlets,  but,  save  for  a  short  kilt  of  cat's-tails  and  hide, 
they  were  quite  unclad.  They  carried  large  shields  of 
the  Zulu  pattern,  and  a  sheaf  of  gleaming  spears — 
some  light,  others  heavy  and  strong  with  the  blade 
like  a  cutlass. 

Who,  what  could  they  be?  he  wondered.  They 
were  too  fine  and  stately  of  aspect — with  their  lofty, 
commanding  brows,  and  clear,  full  glance — to  belong 
to  any  of  the  tribes  around.  They  were  not  Wangoni 
— they  wore  too  striking  a  look  to  come  of  even  that 
fine  race.  Who  could  they  be? 

His  conjectures  on  that  head,  rapid  as  they  were, 
ceased  abruptly,  for  a  perfect  volley  of  spears  came 
whizzing  about  him,  several  burying  their  heads  deep 
within  the  stem  of  the  tree-fern.  Well  indeed  for 


AN  AWAKENING. 

him  that  he  had  so  rapidly  placed  even  that  slight 
rampart  between  himself  and  his  enemies. 

Deeming  parley  better  than  fight,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, Laurence  began  quickly  upon  them  in  a 
mixture  of  Swahili  and  Zulu,  declaring  that  he  could 
be  no  enemy  to  them  or  to  their  race.  But  a  loud 
mocking  laugh  drowned  his  words;  and,  seeing  that 
the  savages  had  suddenly  half  crouched  behind  their 
shields  for  a  charge,  his  quick,  resourceful  brain 
grasped  the  situation  at  once.  A  puff  of  smoke,  a  jet 
of  flame  from  behind  the  tree-fern.  One  of  the  war- 
riors fell  forward  on  his  shield,  beating  the  earth  with 
his  great  limbs  in  the  throes  of  death. 

They  had  hardly  reckoned  upon  this.  Crouching 
low,  now  they  glide  away  among  the  scrub,  keeping 
well  within  cover.  But  that  solitary,  determined  man, 
flattened  there  against  the  tree-fern,  draws  no  hope 
from  this.  Their  manoeuvre  is  a  simple  one  enough. 
They  are  going  to  enfilade  the  position.  Surrounded 
on  all  sides,  and  by  such  foes  as  these,  where  will  he 
be?  for  he  has  no  cover. 

But  in  Laurence  Stanninghame's  stern  eyes  there 
is  a  lurid  battle-glow,  a  very  demon  light.  His 
enemies  will  have  his  life,  but  they  will  purchase  it  at 
a  long  price.  A  dead  silence  now  reigns,  and  through 
it  he  can  hear  the  stealthy  rustle  made  by  his  foes  in 
their  efforts  to  surround  him.  Were  he  in  the  com- 
parative security  of  cover,  or  behind  a  rampart  of 
any  sort,  he  might  hope,  by  a  superhuman  effort  of 
quick  firing,  to  hold  them  back.  As  it  is,  he  dare  not 
move  from  behind  his  tree,  suspecting  an  intention  to 
draw  him  thence. 

175 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

The  sun  flames  blood-red  upon  the  lagoon  and 
upon  a  flight  of  flamingoes  winnowing  above  the 
mirror-like  surface,  and,  as  though  the  situation  were 
not  deadly  and  desperate  enough,  the  shimmer  of 
light  and  water  has,  even  in  that  brief  glance,  brought 
a  spot  in  front  of  his  eyes,  at  the  moment  when,  if 
ever,  his  sight  should  be  at  its  clearest  and  quickest. 
The  odds  against  him  are  indeed  terrible.  He  can 
hardly  hope  to  come  through;  yet  to  his  assailants 
it  well  may  prove  the  dearest  victory  they  have  ever 
won. 

A  dark  body,  creeping  among  the  scrub — just  a 
glimpse  and  nothing  more.  His  piece  is  at  his  shoul- 
der, and  the  trigger  is  pressed.  He  has  not  missed — 
of  that  he  is  sure.  But  the  echoes  of  his  shot  are 
swallowed  up,  drowned  in  a  hundred  other  echoes 
reverberating  upon  the  dim  silence  of  the  scrub. 

Echoes?  No.  The  screech  and  tear  of  missiles 
very  near  to  his  own  head,  the  smoke,  the  jets  of 
flame  from  half  a  hundred  different  points — all  this  is 
sufficient  to  show  that  these  are  no  echoes.  His  own 
people  have  come  up.  He  is  rescued,  but  only  just 
in  the  nick  of  time. 

"  Look  out,"  he  shouts  in  stentorian  tones.  "  Don't 
fire  this  way.  Hazon — Holmes,  I'm  here!  Keep  the 
fools  in  hand.  They  are  blazing  at  me." 

But  the  crash  of  the  volley  drowns  his  voice,  and 
the  scrub  is  alive  with  swarming  natives  armed  with 
firelocks  of  every  description.  Yet,  above  the  volley 
and  the  savage  shouts,  Laurence  can  hear  the  hoarse, 
barking  yell,  can  descry  the  forms  of  his  late  enemies 
— such  as  are  left  of  them — as  they  flee,  leaping  and 

176 


AN  AWAKENING. 

bounding,  zigzagging  with  incredible  velocity  and 
address,  to  avoid  the  hail  of  bullets  which  is  poured 
after  them. 

He  can  realize  something  more — something  which 
sends  through  his  whole  being  a  cold  shudder  of  dis- 
may and  despair.  Not  his  own  people  are  these 
otherwise  so  opportune  arrivals.  Not  his  own  people, 
but — the  inhabitants  of  the  villages  his  own  people 
are  on  their  way  to  raid — fierce  and  savage  cannibals 
by  habit,  but  with  physique  which  will  furnish  excel- 
lent slaves.  He  has  literally  fallen  from  the  frying- 
pan  into  the  fire. 

How  he  curses  his  raw  folly  in  making  his  presence 
known!  But  for  this  he  might  have  slipped  away 
unnoticed  during  the  scrimmage.  Now  they  come 
crowding  up,  brandishing  their  weapons  and  yelling 
hideously.  Although  inferior  both  in  aspect  and 
stature  to  those  they  have  just  defeated,  these  bar- 
barians are  formidable  enough;  terror-striking  their 
wildly  ferocious  mien.  Many  of  them,  too,  have  filed 
teeth,  which  imparts  to  their  hideous  countenances 
the  most  fiend-like  appearance. 

Is  it  that  in  the  apparently  fearless  attitude,  the 
stern,  even  commanding  glance  of  this  solitary  white 
man,  there  is  something  that  overawes  them?  It  may 
be  so,  for  they  stop  short  in  their  hostile  demonstra- 
tions and  commence  a  parley.  Yet  not  altogether 
does  Laurence  Stanninghame  feel  relieved,  for  a 
sudden  thought  surges  through  his  brain  which  causes 
a  shade  of  paleness  to  sweep  over  his  firm,  bronzed 
countenance.  What  if  this  were  but  a  scheme  to  get 
him  into  their  power?  What  if  he  were  not  suffered 

177 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

to  die  fighting,  to  fall  into  their  hands  alive?  Why, 
then,  his  fate  was  certain — certain  and  inexpressibly 
horrible.  He  would  be  butchered  like  a  calf — butch- 
ered and  eaten — by  these  repulsive  wretches.  Such 
would  be  his  end.  Now,  however,  to  make  the  best 
of  the  situation! 

But  little  can  he  make  of  their  tongue.  Then  he 
tries  them  in  Swahili.  Ah!  several  of  them  have  a 
smattering  of  that.  They  have  come  to  his  aid  at  a 
critical  moment,  he  puts  it — he  is  willing  therefore  to 
call  them  friends.  Yet  it  was  a  pity  they  had.  He 
had  already  killed  two  of  his  assailants  and  was  pre- 
pared to  kill  them  all,  one  after  another.  It  was  only 
a  question  of  time.  After  all,  if  anything,  the  new 
arrivals  had  rather  spoiled  his  sport. 

These  stared.  The  tone  was  one  of  patronage,  of 
condescension.  This  white  man  was  but  one;  he  was 
alone,  and  in  their  power,  yet  he  spoke  to  them  as  a 
great  chief  might  speak.  Yet,  was  he  but  one?  Was 
he  alone  or  were  many  others  not  far  off?  Per- 
ceptibly their  own  replies  took  on  a  respectful 
air. 

The  while,  Laurence  kept  every  sense  on  the  alert, 
indeed  even  to  its  uttermost  tension.  Was  this  parley 
designed  to  keep  him  preoccupied  while  others  stole 
up  treacherously  to  strike  him  down  from  behind? 
To  guard  against  this  idea  he  stepped  boldly  forth 
from  the  tree-fern  and  advanced  towards  the  half- 
threatening  crowd. 

"  Where  are  those  we  have  slain?  "  he  said.  "  Let 
us  examine  them." 

"  Yonder,"  answered  some  in  a  wandering  tone, 
178 


AN   AWAKENING. 

while  others  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd  scowled 
and  muttered. 

Leisurely,  and  now  moving  actually  among  these 
people,  did  Laurence  fare  forth  to  look  upon  the 
bodies  of  his  late  assailants.  The  thoroughly  bold 
and  fearless  line  he  had  adopted  had  told,  as  he  was 
all  but  sure  it  would.  These  wild  barbarians,  armed 
to  the  teeth,  had  only  to  stretch  forth  a  hand  and  slay 
him,  yet  somehow  they  refrained. 

The  slain  warriors  were  lying  as  they  fell,  and  even 
in  death  Laurence  could  not  but  admire  their  noble 
proportions,  and  the  set  and  martial  expression  of 
their  countenances.  Six  lay  dead,  while  another, 
sorely  wounded,  was  promptly  beheaded  by  the  new 
arrivals.  These,  their  savage  instincts  all  afire,  set  to 
work  to  hack  the  heads  off  each  corpse;  then,  tying 
grass  ropes  around  the  ankles,  the  trunks  were 
dragged  away  to  the  village. 

To  the  latter  now  they  invited  Laurence.  To  hesi- 
tate might  be  an  act  of  weakness  sufficient  to  cause 
his  slaughter.  To  acquiesce,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
it  not  an  act  of  unexampled  foolhardiness  thus  to 
place  himself  more  absolutely  within  the  power  of 
these  savage  cannibals?  His  policy  of  boldness  had 
availed  so  far;  it  would  not  do  to  break  down  at  the 
last  moment.  So  he  accepted  without  a  shade  of 
hesitation. 

"How  is  your  tribe  named?"  he  asked,  as  they 
proceeded  along. 

"  Wajalu,"  replied  the  man  who  had  done  chief 
spokesman,  rather  a  good-looking  native,  with  almost 
a  Zulu  cast  of  countenance. 

179 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

"  And  the  head  man  of  yonder  village,  who  is  he?  " 

"  I  am  he.  I — Mgara,"  was  the  reply,  with  a 
satisfied  smile. 

"And  those  we  have  slain,  they  seemed  fine 
fighters.  Of  what  race  were  they?  " 

"  Ba-gcatya." 

Laurence  looked  grave,  but  said  nothing.  Strange 
rumours,  mysterious  and  vague,  had  reached  him 
already — rumours  relating  to  an  immensely  powerful 
tribe  inhabiting  the  dark  and  unexplored  country 
away  to  the  north,  whose  raids  were  extending  more 
and  more,  whose  wrath  fell  alike  upon  all — upon 
Arab  slave-hunter  and  the  prey  sought  by  the  latter — 
a  Zulu-speaking  tribe  said  to  have  taken  its  origin  in 
some  hardly  recorded  exodus  in  the  days  of  Tshaka — 
Zulu  alike  in  its  habits  and  customs,  and  in  the 
despotism  of  its  ruler.  This  nation  was  known  as  the 
Abagcatya  or  Ba-gcatya,  "  The  People  of  the  Spider." 
Hazon,  too,  believed  in  its  existence,  and  Hazon  was 
a  first-class  authority  on  such  subjects.  And  now 
the  warriors  who  had  attacked  him,  and  upon  whom 
the  tables  were  so  strangely  turned,  were  Zulu  in 
aspect,  and  bore  Zulu  shields.  The  thing  began  to 
look  serious.  What  if  that  handful  of  warriors  was 
the  outpost  of  a  huge  impi?  Would  not  the  ven- 
geance of  the  latter  be  fearful  and  complete? 

And,  indeed,  time  was  when  Laurence  Stanning- 
hame's  blood  would  have  boiled  with  rage  and  dis- 
gust at  the  indignities  offered  to  the  remains  of  these 
noble-looking  warriors.  The  trunks  dragged  along 
by  the  heels  seemed  nothing  now  but  a  bleeding  mass. 
The  heads,  too,  stuck  upon  spear  points,  were  borne 

1 80 


AN  AWAKENING. 

aloft  above  the  rabble.  To  them  were  all  sorts  of 
mockeries  addressed. 

Now,  however,  it  was  different.  The  hardening 
process  had  been,  if  anything,  all  too  complete.  A 
man  had  his  hands  full  even  if  occupied  solely  in  tak- 
ing care  of  himself — this  had  become  the  sum  total 
of  his  creed. 

As  they  drew  near  the  village,  the  Wajalu  set  up 
the  most  hideously  discordant  war-song  he  had  ever 
heard  in  his  life.  They  were  met  in  the  gate  by  a 
crowd  of  women  howling  and  blowing  horns,  and 
otherwise  adding  to  the  horrific  tumult.  These,  on 
beholding  the  stranger,  imagined  him  a  prisoner,  and 
began  clamouring  for  his  death,  pointing  to  the  blood- 
stained place  of  slaughter  where  such  were  wont  to  be 
immolated. 

And  then  once  more,  hearing  the  shout  of  de- 
moniacal laughter  which  arose  from  some  of  the 
fighting  men,  noting  a  ferociously  sardonic  grin  upon 
not  a  few  faces,  Laurence  felt  his  former  misgivings 
all  return.  Accustomed  as  he  was  to  perilous  situa- 
tions, to  horrifying  sights,  the  strain  upon  his  nerves 
was  becoming  painfully  intense.  Fortunate,  indeed, 
for  him  that  those  nerves  were  now  hardened  to  the 
cold  consistency  of  cast  steel  by  almost  daily  trial. 

"  Men  of  the  Wajalu,"  he  began,  in  a  decisive,  com- 
manding voice,  "  well  is  it  for  all  here  that  I  am 
among  you  this  day  as  a  friend  and  guest,  for,  but  for 
that,  this  village  was  doomed.  You  know  not  who  I 
am,  but  you  shall  know  in  time.  Then  you  will  know 
that  but  for  my  presence  here  to-day  the  spear  and 
the  slave-yoke  would  have  been  your  portion,  that 

181 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

of  your  village  the  flames.  Now  I  give  you  your 
lives." 

The  words,  hurriedly  rendered  to  those  who  could 
not  understand  by  those  who  could,  perhaps  more 
the  haughty  indifference  of  his  tone,  his  bearing,  his 
appearance  in  general,  hard  and  determined,  over- 
awed the  crowd.  No  further  voice  was  raised  against 
him.  Their  advances  of  hospitality  became  even 
profuse. 

He  was  shown  to  the  best  hut.  But  before  he 
entered  it  he  could  not  avoid  seeing  the  bodies  of  his 
late  assailants  in  process  of  dismemberment  as  though 
they  had  been  slaughtered  cattle,  and,  inured  as  he 
was  to  horrible  and  sickening  sights,  never  had  he 
been  conscious  of  so  overpowering  a  feeling  of  repul- 
sion as  now.  The  cannibal  atrocities  of  these  human 
beasts,  the  glowering  heads  stuck  all  over  the 
stockade, — the  latest  addition  thereto  being  those  of 
the  slain  Ba-gcatya, — the  all-pervading  influence  of 
death  brooding  over  this  demoniacal  haunt,  even  as 
the  ever-present  circlings  of  carrion  birds  high  in  mid- 
air— all  this  weighed  upon  his  mind  until  he  could 
have  blown  out  his  own  brains  for  sheer  horror  and 
loathing. 

But  upon  this  dark,  enshrouding  shadow,  piercing, 
partly  dispelling  it,  came  a  ray  of  searching  light — 
sweet,  golden,  penetrating.  The  vision  of  his  mid- 
day slumbers — Lilith.  But  a  few  hours  had  gone  By 
since  that  dream,  and  within  them  he  had  fought 
fiercely  for  his  life;  and  now,  in  this  hell-haunt,  the 
sweet  entrancement  of  it  came  back  to  charm  away, 

182 


AN   AWAKENING. 

as  with  a  hallowed  spell,  the  black  horrors  that  hung 
over  his  soul  as  though  on  vulture  wing. 

Presently  Mgara  entered,  followed  by  people  bear- 
ing food — cooked  goat-flesh  and  millet  and  plantains. 
From  the  smoking  meat  Laurence  recoiled  with  a 
loathing  he  could  hardly  repress.  It  was  too  suggest- 
ive of  the  foul  and  fearful  feast  proceeding  outside; 
and  even  when  the  chief,  with  a  furtive  half-smile, 
assured  him  he  might  safely  partake  of  it,  yet  he  could 
not  touch  it,  contenting  himself  with  the  other  fare, 
cereal  and  vegetable. 

After  some  further  talk  Mgara  withdrew,  and  Lau- 
rence, left  alone,  gave  his  meditations  the  rein  once 
more.  Never  had  he  loathed  the  sinister  occupation 
upon  which  he  was  embarked  as  he  did  now,  possibly 
because  the  term  of  the  undertaking  was  nearing  its 
end.  "  I  predict  you  will  come  back  with  what  you 
want,"  Lilith  had  said,  and  her  words  had  been  fully 
verified.  He  had  gained  riches — even  beyond  his 
wildest  dreams,  but  how  he  had  gained  them — traffick- 
ing in  human  flesh  and  blood,  yea,  even  human  life — 
she  should  never  know.  It  seemed  to  him  as  though 
he  were  already  returning  with  that  which  should 
place  all  the  world  at  his  feet. 

But  for  once  he  seemed  to  forget  that  he  had  not 
yet  returned — not  yet.  And  as  the  drums  and  yelling 
of  the  barbarous  orgy  outside  gradually  sank  into  the 
silence  of  night,  even  that,  strange  to  say,  failed  to 
remind  him. 


183 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

AN    ANGEL    UNAWARES. 

NOT  much  sleep  did  Laurence  get  that  night — 
such,  indeed,  as  he  obtained  being  of  the  "  with  one 
eye  open  "  order.  Simple  trust  in  anybody  or  any- 
thing was  not  one  of  his  failings,  as  we  think  we  have 
shown;  wherefore  having  carefully  scrutinized  the 
plastered  walls  of  his  rude  quarters,  he  took  the  pre- 
caution to  secure  the  wicker  door  from  the  inside,  and 
lay  down  with  his  Express,  so  covering  the  same 
that  but  the  very  slightest  movement  of  the  hand 
would  be  needed  on  his  part  in  order  to  rake  from 
stem  to  stern  whosoever  should  be  so  ill-advised  as 
to  essay  a  stealthy  ingress. 

Still  more  would  he  have  applauded  his  own  fore- 
sight in  taking  these  precautions  could  he  have 
known  that  a  large  portion  of  the  night  was  spent  by 
his  "  entertainers "  keenly  debating  the  expediency 
of  treacherously  putting  him  to  death.  Here,  it  was 
urged,  was  an  opportunity  such  as  might  never  again 
come  their  way.  Here  was  one  of  the  leaders  of  that 
dreaded  band  of  slave-hunters — one  whose  very  name 
was  a  terror  and  a  scourge.  Here  was  this  man 
actually  in  their  hands.  It  was  in  their  power  to  slay 
him  without  the  smallest  risk  to  themselves.  Let 
them  not  miss  such  an  opportunity  of  setting  up  his 
head  above  their  gates.  As  for  his  party,  now  that 

184 


AN   ANGEL   UNAWARES. 

its  existence  was  known,  they  could  surprise  it,  and 
slaughter  every  man  it  contained.  They,  the  Wajalu, 
were  numerous,  and  had  good  fire-weapons,  and  knew 
how  to  use  them.  Why  should  they  not  rid  the  land 
of  this  terror?  It  was  in  their  power  to  do  so. 

This  sounded  all  very  plausible;  many  tales  do, 
until  their  other  side  is  told.  And  the  other  side  was 
unfolded  by  the  head  man,  Mgara,  and  others,  much 
to  this  effect:  The  slave-hunters  were  more  numer- 
ous than  many  there  imagined.  They  had  been  re- 
inforced by  a  large  body  of  Wangoni — fierce  and 
formidable  fighters.  To  surprise  and  overwhelm  such 
a  force  would  be  impossible,  and  in  the  event  of  failure 
what  would  their  own  fate  be?  Moreover,  it  was  cer- 
tain that  the  slavers  were  much  better  armed  than  the 
Wajalu.  Their  best  policy  would  be  to  treat  the  man 
well;  he  had  already  given  what  was  as  good  as  an 
assurance  of  his  protection.  These  counsels  pre- 
vailed. 

And  soon  the  wisdom  thereof  was  made  manifest, 
for  with  earliest  dawn  one  of  their  scouts  came  run- 
ning in  with  the  news  that  the  slave-hunters  were 
approaching;  that  they  were  in  great  numbers,  and 
mostly  armed  with  rifles;  that  it  was  too  late  for  re- 
treat, in  that  a  large  detachment  had  already  gained 
a  position  which  was  practically  such  as  to  surround 
the  village. 

The  effect  of  this  news  was  to  stamp  with  an  expres- 
sion of  the  most  terror-stricken  despair  the  counte- 
nance of  every  man  who  heard  it.  But  Mgara, 
remembering  the  words  of  their  white  "guest," 
hurried  to  the  hut  where  the  latter  was  sleeping. 

185 


THE  SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

Yet  as  the  head  man  approached  the  door  with  a 
quick  deferential  word  of  greeting,  Laurence  Stan- 
ninghame  was  wide  awake.  The  talk  outside,  the 
rapid  note  of  fear  underlying  the  tone,  had  not  escaped 
him,  and  even  though  he  understood  not  a  word  of 
their  talk  among  themselves  he  knew  what  these 
-people  wanted  of  him.  And  the  situation  looked 
serious,  for  he  felt  far  less  confident  of  his  ability  to 
redeem  his  half-implied  pledge  than  when,  moved  by 
the  first  instincts  of  self-preservation,  he  had  given 
the  same. 

Well,  and  what  then?  The  extinction  of  this  horde 
of  cannibal  barbarians  was  a  mere  trifle,  a  drop  in  the 
bucket,  when  looked  at  beside  other  dark  and  ruthless 
deeds  which  he  had  witnessed,  and  even  actually 
aided  in.  But  hard,  pitiless,  utterly  impervious  to 
human  suffering  as  he  had  become,  there  was  one 
point  in  Laurence  Stanninghame's  character — a  weak 
point,  he  regarded  it — which  he  had  never  succeeded 
in  eradicating.  He  could  not  forget  or  ignore  a  good 
turn.  These  people,  monstrous,  repulsive  as  they 
were  in  his  sight,  had  saved  his  life — twice  indeed — 
the  first  time  unconsciously  from  the  Ba-gcatya,  the 
second  time  from  themselves.  They  might  have  slain 
him  barbarously  at  almost  any  moment — he  was  but 
one  among  a  number;  yet  they  had  not,  but  instead 
had  treated  him  hospitably  and  well.  He  was  re- 
solved, at  any  risk,  to  save  them. 

Mgara,  entering,  lost  no  time  in  making  known 
his  errand. 

"  O  stranger  guest,  whom  we  have  treated  as  a 
friend,"  he  began,  "  save  us  from  the  slave-yoke,  and 

j86 


AN   ANGEL   UNAWARES. 

the  guns  and  spears  of  your  people,  for  they  are  upon 
us  already.'5  And  rapidly  he  narrated  the  tidings 
brought  in  by  the  scouts. 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can,  Mgara,"  answered  Laurence. 
"  Listen.  All  your  people  must  retire  within  the 
huts;  not  one  must  be  seen.  Further,  two  of  your 
men  must  bear  a  token  from  me  to  El  Khanac,  my 
brother-chief,  who  leads  yonder  host,  and  that  at 
once.  Now,  call  those  two  men." 

Swift  of  resource,  Laurence  picked  up  a  flat  piece 
of  wood  and,  scraping  it  smooth  with  his  knife,  wrote 
upon  it  in  pencil: 

"  /  owe  these  people  my  life.  Keep  ours  in  hand  until 
ive  meet" 

"These  are  the  messengers,  Mgara?"  he  went  on, 
as  the  head  man  returned  accompanied  by  two  men. 
"  Are  they  reliable,  and  above  all,  fearless?  " 

"  They  are  both,  Sidi,"  answered  the  chief,  now  very 
deferential.  "  One  is  my  son,  the  other  my  brother's 
son." 

"  Good.  Let  them  now  get  a  piece  of  white  flaxen 
cloth,  and  bind  it  and  this  token  to  a  staff.  Then  let 
them  seek  out  El  Khanac  yonder." 

In  a  moment  this  was  done,  and,  bearing  the  im- 
promptu white  flag  and  the  writing  on  the  board,  the 
two  young  men  started  off  into  the  scrub. 

"  Retire  now  into  your  houses,  Mgara,  you  and  all 
your  people.  I  alone  will  stand  within  the  gate,  and 
maybe  it  will  be  well  with  you." 

The  Wajalu,  who  had  been  hanging  on  every  word, 
now  hastened  to  obey;  nevertheless  there  was  terror 
and  dejection  in  every  face.  And  their  thoughts  were 

187 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

much  the  same  as  those  of  their  would-be  deliverer. 
Had  he  the  power  to  make  good  his  word? 

The  hot  morning  hours  dragged  slowly  by,  and  still 
no  sign  of  attack.  The  village  was  a  deserted  place, 
in  its  brooding,  death-like  silence,  so  still,  so  complete 
as  to  render  distinctly  audible  the  sweep  of  the  wings 
of  carrion  birds  circling  aloft.  The  severed  heads 
grinned  hideously  from  the  stockade,  and  the  un- 
earthly molten  stillness  of  the  silent  noon  was  such  as 
to  get  upon  the  nerves  of  the  ordinary  watcher.  But 
he  who  now  stood  there  had  no  nerves — not  in  a 
matter  of  this  kind.  His  experiences  had  been  such 
as  to  kill  and  crush  them  out  of  all  being. 

Ha!  What  was  this?  The  crows  and  vultures, 
which,  emboldened  by  the  deathly  silence,  had  been 
circling  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  tree  tops,  suddenly 
and  with  one  accord  shot  upward,  now  seeming  mere 
specks  in  the  blue  ether.  Then  the  silence  was  broken 
in  appalling  fashion.  Rending  the  air  in  a  terrific  note 
of  savagery  and  blood-thirst,  there  burst  forth  the 
harsh,  hissing  war-yell  of  the  Wangoni. 

It  came  from  the  forest  edge  on  the  farther  side  of 
the  village.  Laurence  realized,  with  vexation  and 
concern,  that  his  merciful  plan  would  be  extremely 
difficult  to  carry  out.  That  these  ferocious  auxilaries 
should  be  allowed  to  initiate  the  attack  he  had  not 
reckoned  upon;  and  now  to  restrain  them  would  be 
a  herculean  task. 

"Back,  back!"  he  shouted,  meeting  the  crowd  of 
charging  savages  who,  shield  and  spear  uplifted,  were 
bearing  down  in  full  career  upon  the  village. 

In  the  headlong,  exciting  moment  of  their  charge 
188 


AN   ANGEL    UNAWARES. 

they  hardly  recognized  him.  Laurence  Stanning- 
hame's  life  hung  upon  a  hair.  Then,  with  a  great 
burst  of  laughter,  mocking,  half  defiant,  they  surged 
past  him.  They  "  saw  red,"  and  no  power  on  earth 
seemed  able  to  stop  those  human  wolves  now  rushing 
upon  their  helpless  prey. 

"Back,  back!"  thundered  Laurence  again.  "The 
village  is  dead,  I  tell  you.  It  is  the  abode  of  death! " 

This  told.  Barbarians  have  a  shrinking  horror  of 
infectious  disease.  Thoughts  of  smallpox,  cholera, 
what  not,  arose  in  the  minds  of  these.  No  other  con- 
sideration on  earth  could  have  restrained  that  charge, 
yet  this  one  did.  They  stopped  short. 

"  Lo!  the  stillness,  the  silence,"  went  on  Laurence, 
pointing  to  the  lifeless  village.  "  Would  you,  too, 
travel  the  voiceless  and  weaponless  path  of  death?  " 

But  mutterings  both  loud  and  deep  went  through 
the  Wangoni  ranks.  What  was  this?  They  had 
been  ordered  to  charge — been  signalled  to  charge, 
and  now  they  were  forbidden  to  enter  the  village. 
"El  Afa"  (the  serpent)  had  been  absent  from  the  expe- 
dition, and  now  turned  up  here,  alone.  Savages  are 
ever  suspicious,  and  these  were  no  exception  to  the 
rule  of  their  kind. 

"  Whau,  what  does  it  mean?"  half  sneered  their 
leader,  scowling  resentfully  upon  Laurence  as  the 
warriors  crowded  around,  growling  like  a  pack  of 
baffled  wolves.  "  Had  we  not  better  send  some  in  to 
see  if  these  dogs  are  indeed  all  dead? " 

"  Not  so,  Mashumbwe,"  was  the  unconcerned  reply. 
"  Tarry  until  the  others  arrive,  then  will  we  act 
together." 

189 


THE    SIGN    OF   THE    SPIDER. 

But  a  furious  clamour  arose  at  the  words.  The 
Wangoni  did  not  entirely  believe  the  explanation; 
and  to  further  their  doubts  there  now  arose  from  the 
inside  of  the  huts  the  puling  wail  of  infants  which  the 
mothers  had  not  been  entirely  able  to  stifle. 

"Au,  we  will  add  those  to  the  death  number,  at 
least,"  said  the  chief,  giving  the  signal  to  his  followers 
to  advance. 

"Not  so!"  said  Laurence  decisively.  "Hearken, 
Mashumbwe,  you  are  chief  of  your  own  people,  but 
I  am  chief  of  all — of  all!  Not  a  man  stirs  until  El 
Khanac  comes  up.  Not  a  man,  do  you  hear?  " 

Mashumbwe  tossed  back  his  ringed  head,  and  his 
eyes  glared.  He  was  a  tall,  fine  savage,  with  all  the 
pride  of  mien  inseparable  from  his  rank  and  Zulu 
blood.  Thus  they  stood,  the  savage  and  the  white 
man,  looking  into  each  other's  eyes;  the  one  in  a 
blaze  of  haughty  anger,  the  other  cool,  resolute,  and 
absolutely  unflinching.  How  it  would  end  Heaven 
alone  knew. 

But  now  the  very  thing  that  Laurence  had  been 
longing  for  happened.  A  hurried  murmur  ran 
through  the  Wangoni  lines.  The  main  body  of  the 
slave-hunters  had  emerged  from  the  scrub,  and  had 
quietly  surrounded  the  village.  Laurence  was  satis- 
fied. He  had  gained  time  so  far,  and  with  it  his 
object. 

"  What  astonishing  freak  is  this,  Stanninghame?  " 
said  Hazon,  who,  having  taken  in  the  situation  at  a 
glance,  was  promptly  at  his  colleague's  side,  display- 
ing, too,  the  piece  of  pencilled  board.  "  What  be- 
comes of  our  pact  when  such  a  consideration  as  this 

190 


AN   ANGEL   UNAWARES. 

comes  in?"  he  continued,  meaningly  tapping  the 
inscription  on  the  board.  "  Have  we  obtained  all 
we  wanted  on  those  terms  up  till  now,  or  not?  " 

"  No,  we  haven't;  but  now,  having  obtained  almost 
all  we  wanted,  we  can  afford  to  do  this  for  once.  If 
it  had  been  your  life  instead  of  mine  these  people  had 
saved  twice,  Hazon,  I  would  willingly  have  spared 
theirs;  now  will  you  do  less  for  me?" 

"  But  it  will  breed  a  mutiny  among  our  people," 
said  Hazon  doubtfully,  with  a  half  glance  at  the  crowd 
of  scowling  Wangoni. 

"  Oh,  a  mutiny!  By  all  means.  We  shall  know 
how  to  deal  with  that,  as  we  did  before." 

It  seemed  as  though  such  knowledge  were  about 
to  be  called  into  requisition,  for  the  announcement 
that  all  this  "  property  "  was  to  be  relinquished  abso- 
lutely was  received  by  the  more  important  section  of 
the  slave-hunters  with  a  sullen  silence  more  eloquent 
even  that  the  wolfish  growls  of  the  Wangoni.  The 
latter's  disappointment  lay  in  the  fact  that  they  were 
balked  in  giving  vent  to  their  instincts  of  sheer  sav- 
agery— the  delight  of  plunder  and  massacre.  That 
of  the  former,  however,  was  a  more  weighty  factor  to 
reckon  with;  for  the  smatter  of  civilization  in  the 
Arab  and  Swahili  element  had  brought  with  it  the 
commercial  instinct  of  cupidity.  It  speaks  volumes, 
therefore,  for  the  ascendency  which  these  two  resolute 
white  men  had  set  up  over  their  wild  and  lawless  fol- 
lowing, that  the  latter  should  have  contented  itself 
with  mere  sullen  obedience. 

Having  gained  his  point  Laurence  returned  within 
the  village,  and,  calling  Mgara,  suggested  that  some 

191 


THE    SIGN    OF   THE   SPIDER. 

of  the  people  should  carry  forth  food  to  their  unwel- 
come visitors. 

"  I  fear  it  may  leave  scarcity  in  your  midst,"  he 
added;  "but  well-fed  men  are  in  better  mood  than 
hungry  ones,  Mgara,  and  are  you  not  spared  the 
slave-yoke  and  the  spear?  " 

The  head  man,  with  many  deferential  expressions 
of  gratitude,  agreed,  and  soon  a  file  of  women  and 
boys  were  told  off,  bringing  goats  and  millet  and  rice 
for  the  slave-hunters.  As  they  passed  tremblingly 
among  the  ranks  of  the  Wangoni  the  latter  handled 
their  great  spears  meaningly,  and  with  much  the 
same  expression  of  countenance  as  a  cat  might  wear 
when  contemplating  an  inaccessible  bird  cage. 

"  Ho,  dog! "  cried  Mashumbwe,  as  a  youth  passed 
before  him  without  making  obeisance.  "  Do  you  dare 
stand  before  me — before  me!  thou  spawn  of  these 
man-eating  jackals?  Lo!  lie  prostrate  forever." 
And  with  the  words  he  half  threw,  half  thrust  his 
great  spear  into  the  unfortunate  lad's  body.  The 
blood  spurted  forth  in  a  great  jet,  and,  staggering,  the 
boy  fell. 

"  Au!  And  am  I  to  be  defiled  with  the  blood  of 
such  as  this,"  growled  the  chief,  upon  whom  several 
red  drops  had  squirted.  "  Let  that  carrion  be  re- 
moved." 

Several  of  the  Wangoni  sprang  forward,  and,  as  the 
quivering  body  was  dragged  away,  these  savages  gave 
vent  to  their  pent-up  ferocity  by  stabbing  it  again  and 
again.  Having  tasted  blood  they  rolled  their  eyes 
around  in  search  of  further  victims.  But  the  remain- 
ing Wajalu  had  withdrawn  in  terror:  and  well  for  all 

192 


AN  ANGEL   UNAWARES. 

concerned  that  it  was  so,  otherwise  the  Wangoni, 
inspired  by  the  example  of  their  chief,  would  certainly 
have  commenced  a  massacre  which  even  the  prestige 
and  authority  of  Hazon  and  Laurence  combined 
would  have  been  powerless  to  quell.  But  there  was 
no  one  outside  to  begin  upon,  and,  though  a  trucu- 
lent, unruly  crowd,  their  interests  in  the  long  run  lay 
in  submitting  to  the  authority  of  the  white  chiefs. 

So  the  Wajalu  rejoiced  much,  if  tremblingly,  as  the 
last  of  the  dreaded  host  disappeared.  For  good  or 
for  ill  their  village  was  spared — spared  to  continue 
its  most  revolting  forms  of  savagery  and  cannibalism 
and  parricide — spared  for  good  or  for  ill  in  that  it  had 
entertained  an  angel  unawares  in  the  person  of  that 
hard,  pitiless,  determined  slave-hunter,  Laurence 
Stanninghame. 


193 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

DISSENSIONS. 

"  WELL,  I'm  uncommonly  glad  I  was  out  of  that 
affair  yesterday,  Stanninghame.  But  it  isn't  like  you, 
letting  those  poor  devils  off,  eh?  " 

Thus  Holmes,  as  the  two  were  leisurely  pursuing 
their  way,  somewhat  on  the  rear  flank  of  the  slave- 
party. 

"  I  don't  know.  You  see  they  let  me  off,  and  I 
didn't  want  to  be  outdone  in  civility  even  by  a  lot  of 
scurvy  dogs  who  eat  each  other.  There  was  no  feel- 
ing about  the  matter." 

Before  the  other  could  pursue  the  subject,  the 
sound  of  faint  groans,  and  pleading  in  an  unknown 
tongue,  was  heard  just  ahead.  With  it,  too,  the 
sound  of  blows. 

"  Some  devilish  work  going  forward  again," 
muttered  Holmes,  with  savage  disgust. 

"  You  can't  make  omelettes  without  breaking  eggs," 
was  the  indifferent  reply.  And  then  they  came  upon 
a  not  entirely  unfamiliar  scene. 

On  the  ground  crouched  three  human  figures, 
wretched-looking  and  emaciated  to  the  last  degree. 
Disease  and  exhaustion  had  overpowered  them,  and 
they  were  begging  to  be  left  to  die.  Standing  over 
them  in  threatening  attitude  was  Lutali,  with  some 
half-dozen  of  the  slavers. 

194 


DISSENSIONS. 

"  They  are  too  far  gone  to  feel  the  whip,"  Lutali 
was  saying.  "  Clearly  they  are  of  no  further  use. 
You,  Murad,  shorten  me  the  shadow  of  yonder  dog. 
We  shall  see." 

The  man  named,  a  savage-looking  ruffian,  stepped 
forward,  grinning  with  delight.  Just  as  he  was  swing- 
ing up  his  scimitar,  Holmes  burst  forth : 

"  Hold  on,  Lutali !  Give  the  poor  devil  another 
show." 

Half  turning  his  head  at  this  interruption,  there 
was  that  look  upon  the  hawk-like  features  of  the  Arab 
which  at  times  so  strangely  resembled  Hazon.  His 
keen  eyes  darted  haughty  reproof  at  Holmes,  for  he 
was  a  sort  of  supercargo  of  the  slave  department,  and 
relished  not  this  interference.  Then,  turning  back, 
he  once  more  gave  the  signal.  Down  flashed  the 
great  blade.  There  was  a  dull  swooshing  thud,  and 
the  headless  trunk  was  deluging  the  earth. 

The  effect,  however,  upon  the  other  two  exhausted 
wretches  was  magical.  With  a  despairing  effort  they 
raised  themselves  up  and  staggered  on,  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  not  a  few  blows  by  way  of  recognition  of 
their  malingering.  Lutali,  who  had  uttered  no  word, 
and  whose  impassive  countenance  had  not  moved  a 
feature,  stalked  gravely  on. 

"  Why  could  we  not  have  prevented  this?  "  burst 
forth  Holmes,  whom  a  sort  of  morbid  fascination 
seemed  to  root  to  the  spot. 

"  Because  it  would  have  been  the  very  acme  of 
insanity  to  attempt  such  a  thing.  Lutali,  in  common 
with  the  rest,  is  in  far  too  ugly  a  mood,  after  yester- 
day, to  be  fooled  with  needlessly.  Besides,  all  that 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

sentiment  is  simply  thrown  away.  These  people, 
remember,  are  atrocious  brutes,  who  eat  their  own 
fathers  and  mothers.  It  is  positively  a  work  of 
charity  to  enslave  them.  Once  they  are  off  the  march 
they  are  fairly  well  treated, — better,  in  fact,  that  they 
treat  each  other — and,  of  course,  no  more  canni- 
balism." 

"  That  may  be.  But  I  wish  to  Heaven  I  could  blot 
out  these  two  years  as  though  they  had  never  been. 
The  recollection  of  the  horrors  one  has  been  through 
will  haunt  me  for  life.  I  feel  like  blowing  my  brains 
out  in  sheer  disgust.  Why  did  I  ever  come?  " 

It  was  not  the  first  time  Holmes  had  burst  forth  in 
this  fashion,  as  we  have  shown.  Laurence  looked 
keenly  at  him. 

"  There  is  a  worse  thing  to  haunt  one's  life  than 
recollection,"  he  said,  "  and  that  is  anticipation." 

"Of  what?"  asked  Holmes  shortly. 

The  other  touched  the  muzzle  of  his  rifle,  then  his 
own  forehead. 

"  It's  that — or  this,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  ghastly 
trunk  and  the  severed  head  which  lay  before  them. 
"  You  don't  suppose  I  should  have  adopted  this  sweet 
trade  from  choice,  I  suppose?  No.  Hard  necessity, 
my  dear  chap.  If  anybody  has  to  go  under — and 
somebody  always  has  to — I  prefer  that  it  shall  not 
be  me." 

Holmes  made  no  reply  for  a  while,  so  they  left  the 
spot,  walking  in  silence.  Then  Laurence  went  on: 

"  Now  we  are  on  the  subject,  I  don't  know  that  you 
would  have  come  out  any  the  better  had  we  left  you 
behind  at  Johannesburg.  For  you  were  going  the 

196 


DISSENSIONS. 

wrong  way.  You  were  a  precious  sight  too  fond  of 
hanging  around  bars,  and  that  sort  of  thing  grows. 
In  fact,  you  were  more  than  once  a  trifle — shall  we 
say  '  muddled.'  Not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  upon  it, 
you  were  on  your  way  to  the  deuce.  I  know  it,  for 
I've  seen  it  so  often  before,  and  you  know  it  too." 

"  I  believe  you're  right  there,"  assented  Holmes. 

"Well,  then,  we  owe  our  first  duty  to  ourselves; 
wherefore,  my  soft-hearted  young  friend,  it  is  better 
to  spend  a  year  or  two  raking  in  a  fortune  and  ameli- 
orating the  lot  of  humanity,  than  to  die  in  a  state  of 
soak,  and  a  disused  shaft,  on  or  around  the  Rand,  even 
as  did  Pulman  the  day  before  we  left." 

"  I  don't  believe  that  same  fortune  will  do  us  any 
good/'  urged  Holmes  gloomily.  "  There  is  the  curse 
of  blood  upon  it." 

u  The  curse  of  my  grandmother,"  laughed  the  other. 

There  was  no  affectation  about  Laurence  Stanning- 
hame's  indifference.  It  was  perfectly  genuine. 
Strong-nerved  constitutionally,  callous,  hard-hearted 
through  stress  of  circumstances,  such  sights  as  that 
just  witnessed  told  not  one  atom  upon  him.  In  the 
sufferings  of  the  miserable  wretches  he  saw  only  a 
lurid  alternative — his  own.  In  them,  toiling  along, 
wearily,  dejectedly,  beneath  the  chain  or  yoke,  he  saw 
himself,  toiling,  grinding,  at  some  sordid  and  utterly 
repellent  form  of  labour,  for  a  miserable  pittance;  no 
ray  of  light,  no  redeeming  rest  or  enjoyment  to 
sweeten  life  until  that  life  should  end.  In  them,  cower- 
ing, writhing,  beneath  the  driver's  brutal  lash,  he  saw 
himself,  ever  lashed  and  stung  by  the  torturing  con- 
sciousness of  what  might  have  been,  by  the  recollec- 

197 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

tion  of  what  had  been.  Or  did  they  fall  exhausted, 
fainting,  to  die,  or  to  undergo  decapitation  to  insure 
that  such  exhaustion  should  not  open  even  a  feeble 
possibility  of  escape,  there  too,  he  saw  himself  sink- 
ing, borne  down  by  the  sheer  blank  hopelessness  of 
fate,  taking  refuge  in  the  Dark  Unknown,  his  end  the 
grave  of  the  suicide.  It  was  himself  or  them,  and  he 
preferred  that  it  should  be  them.  Preyer  or  preyed 
upon — such  was  the  iron  immutable  law  of  life,  from 
man  in  his  highest  development  to  the  minutest  of 
insects;  and  with  this  law  he  wras  but  complying,  not 
in  wanton  cruelty,  but  in  cold,  passive  ruthlessness. 

Further,  the  sufferings  of  these  people  were  only 
transitory.  They  would  be  much  better  off  when 
the  journey  was  ended  and  they  were  disposed  of — 
better  off  indeed  than  many  a  free  person  in  civilized 
and  Christian  lands.  Besides,  such  races  as  these, 
low  down  as  they  were  in  the  scale  of  humanity, 
suffered  but  little.  It  needs  imagination,  refinement, 
to  accentuate  suffering.  To  anything  approaching 
such  attributes,  these  were  utter  strangers.  They 
were  mere  animals.  Men  dealt  in  sheep  and  cattle, 
in  order  to  live,  in  horses  and  other  beasts  of  burden, 
why  not  in  these,  who  were  even  lower  than  the 
higher  animals? 

This  theory  of  their  sinister  occupation  Hazon 
thoroughly  indorsed. 

"  Depend  upon  it,  Stanninghame,"  he  said,  "  ours 
is  the  right  view  to  take  of  it — the  only  view.  This 
is  '  a  world  of  plunder  and  prey/  as  Tennyson  puts 
it,  and  we  have  got  to  prey  or  be  preyed  upon.  You, 
for  instance,  seem  to  have  fulfilled  the  latter  role, 

198 


DISSENSIONS. 

hitherto,  and  it  seems  only  right  you  should  have 
your  turn  now.  To  cite  the  latest  instance,  all  this 
rotten  scrip  and  market-rigging  finished  you  off,  and 
what  was  that  but  rascality?  " 

"  Of  course,  I've  been  plundered,  swindled,  all 
along  the  line,  ever  since  I  can  remember.  I'm  tired 

of  that  d d  respectability,  Hazon.  It  doesn't 

pay.  It  never  has  paid.  This,  however,  does." 

The  other  smiled  significantly  at  the  word. 

"  Respectability — yes,"  he  said.  "  Look  at  your 
type  of  success,  your  self-made  man,  swelling  out  of 
his  white  waistcoat  in  snug  self-complacency,  your 
pattern  British  merchant,  your  millionaire  financier, 
what  is  he  but  a  slave-dealer,  a  slave-driver,  a  blood- 
sucker. What  has  become  of  your  little  all,  swamped 
in  those  precious  Rand  companies,  Stanninghame? 
Gone  to  bloat  more  unimpeachable  white  waistcoats; 
gone  to  add  yet  more  pillars  to  the  temple  of  pattern 
respectability." 

"  That's  so,"  assented  Laurence,  with  something 
between  a  sneer  and  a  laugh,  knocking  the  ashes  out 
of  his  pipe.  "  Yet  that  same  crowd  of  respectable 
swindlers  would  yelp  in  horror  at  us  and  our  enter- 
prise. '  Piratical,'  they'd  call  it,  eh?  A  hanging 
matter!  " 

"  Swindlers — no.  Swindler  is  English  for  a  con- 
victed person.  Yet  the  percentage  of  the  props  and 
pillars  of  financial  success  and  mercantile  respecta- 
bility who,  in  the  self-candour  and  secrecy  of  their 
sleepless  hours,  are  honestly  unable  to  recall  to  mind 
one  or  more  occasions  when  Portland,  or  Dartmoor, 
or  Simonstown,  or  the  Kowie  loomed  more  than  near, 

199 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

cannot  be  a  vast  one;  which,  for  present  purposes, 
may  be  taken  to  mean  that  if  you  have  got  to  make 
money  you  must  make  it  anyhow,  or  not  at  all — 
'  anyhow  '  covering  such  methods  as  are  involved  in 
the  conventional  term  '  rascality.'  If  you  have  got  it 
you  can  run  as  straight  as  you  like.  We  haven't  got 
it — at  least  not  enough  of  it  yet — and  so  we  are 
making  it,  and,  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  making 
it  anyhow.  There's  the  whole  case  in  a  nutshell, 
Stanninghame." 

"  Why,  of  course.  But,  if  only  we  could  bring 
Holmes  round  to  that  pre-eminently  sensible  stand- 
point! I  never  could  have  believed  the  fellow  would 
turn  out  such  an  ass.  I  am  more  than  sorry,  Hazon, 
that  I  should  have  influenced  you  to  bring  him  along." 

"  Oh,  Holmes  is  young,  and  hardly  knows  the 
meaning  of  the  term  '  hard  experience,'  as  we  know 
it.  Still,  in  his  way,  he's  useful  enough,  and  first-rate 
in  a  fight;  and  when  he  comes  to  bank  his  share  he'll 
forget  to  feel  over  particular  as  to  how  he  acquired  it. 
That's  mere  ordinary  human  nature,  and  Holmes  is 
far  from  being  an  abnormal  unit." 

"  No,  but  he  still  affects  a  conscience.  What  if  he 
goes  back  and  takes  on  that  blue-eyed  girl  he  was 
smitten  with,  and,  turning  soft,  incontinently  gives 
us  away? " 

"  Are  you  on  the  croak,  Stanninghame?  That's 
odd.  Here,  how's  your  pulse?  Let's  time  it."  And 
Hazon  reached  out  his  hand. 

"Well,  yes;  it  is  unusual.  But  it's  d d  hot, 

and  the  steaminess  of  it  depresses  me  at  times,"  re- 
turned Laurence,  with  a  queer,  reckless  laugh. 

200 


DISSENSIONS. 

"  He  won't  give  us  away,  never  fear,"  said  Hazon 
carelessly.  "  He  won't  take  on  that  girl,  because 
she'll  have  forgotten  him  long  ago;  that,  too,  being 
ordinary  human  nature.  And — nobody  ever  did  give 
me  away  yet.  I  don't  somehow  think  anybody  is 
ever  likely  to." 

Both  sides  of  this  remark  struck  a  chord  within 
Laurence's  mind;  the  first,  a  jarring  one,  since  it 
voiced  a  misgiving  which  had  at  times  assailed  him- 
self, specially  at  such  periods  of  depression  as  this 
under  which  he  was  now  suffering.  For  the  second, 
the  tone  was  characteristic  of  the  speaker  and  the  sub- 
ject. It  seemed  to  flash  forth  more  than  a  menace, 
in  its  stern,  unrelenting  ruthlessness  of  purpose,  while 
the  words  seemed  to  recall  the  warning  so  darkly  let 
fall  by  Rainsford  and  others  regarding  his  present 
confederate.  "  Other  men  have  gone  up  country 
with  Hazon,  but — not  one  of  them  has  ever  returned." 
To  himself  the  words  contained  no  menace.  He 
trusted  Hazon,  felt  thoroughly  able  to  take  care  of 
himself,  and,  moreover,  was  as  little  likely  to  violate 
the  secrecy  of  their  enterprise  as  Hazon  himself.  But 
what  of  Holmes?  With  all  his  hard,  callous  un- 
scrupulousness,  Laurence  had  no  desire  that  harm 
should  befall  Holmes.  In  a  measure,  he  felt  respon- 
sible for  him. 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  Holmes,"  said  Hazon,  as 
though  reading  his  thoughts.  "  We  can  put  him  to 
all  the  show  part  of  the  business,  reserving  the  more 
serious  line  for  our  own  immediate  supervision.  And 
the  time  may  come  when  we  can  do  very  well  with 
Holmes,  in  short,  when  three  white  men  may  be  better 

201 


THE   SIGN    OF   THE   SPIDER. 

than  two.  We  are  very  near  the  Ba-gcatya  country, 
and  an  impi  of  them  on  the  raid  will  give  us  as  much 
trouble  as  we  can  do  with ;  and  I've  seen  signs  of  late 
which  seem  to  point  that  way." 

"  Isn't  it  a  crowded-on  business  this  Ba-gcatya 
terror,  eh?  "  said  Laurence,  lazily  puffing  out  rings  of 
blue  smoke,  which  hung  upon  the  hot,  still  atmos- 
phere as  though  they  never  meant  to  disperse.  "  I 
expect  their  strength  is  as  exaggerated  as  their  dash. 
Why,  this  part  is  not  altogether  unexplored,  yet  there 
is  no  record  of  an  exceptionally  strong  tribe  here- 
abouts." 

Hazon  smiled  pityingly. 

"  That  great  god,  the  African  explorer,  don't  know 
everything,"  he  said — "  no,  not  quite  everything, 
although  he  thinks  he  does.  Anyway,  he  frequently 
manages  to  get  a  pretty  muddled-up  idea  of  things 
and  places  hereabout — a  muddle  which  the  natives  of 
this  land  would  rather  thicken  than  dispel.  For 
instance,  he  will  ask  the  name  of  a  river  or  a  moun- 
tain, and  when  the  other  party  to  the  talk  repeats  his 
question,  as  natives  invariably  do  to  gain  time  for 
answering,  he  takes  this  for  the  answer,  and  forthwith 
the  thing  is  dubbed  by  a  word  that  simply  means 
'  river '  or  '  mountain/  in  one  or  other  of  the  hundred 
and  fifty  tongues  which  prevail  hereabout.  No,  the 
existence  of  the  Ba-gcatya  is  not  chronicled,  simply 
because  the  explorer  was  fortunate  enough  not  to  fall 
in  with  them.  Had  he  done  so,  he  would  probably 
never  have  returned  to  chronicle  anything.  But,  get 
one  or  two  of  our  Wangoni  to  talk,  and  he  may,  or 
may  not,  tell  you  something  about  them;  for  the  Ba- 

202 


DISSENSIONS. 

gcatya  are,  like  the  Wangoni  themselves,  a  Zulu  off- 
shoot, only  far  more  conservative  in  the  old  Zulu 
traditions,  and  of  purer  blood.  They  are  a  much  finer 
race,  indeed  I  believe  them  to  be  as  powerful  and  well 
disciplined  as  the  Zulus  themselves  were  under  Cety- 
wayo.  I  was  all  through  the  war  of  '79,  you  know, 
and  that  pretty  scar  I  carry  about  as  an  ornament 
represents  the  expiring  effort  of  an  awful  tough  cus- 
tomer, who  had  lost  too  much  blood  to  be  able  to 
strike  altogether  home.  I  call  it  my  Isandhlwana 
medal." 

"  That  where  you  captured  it,  eh?  "  said  Laurence, 
with  interest,  for  the  story  was  new  to  him.  He 
remembered  first  noticing  the  great  scar  upon  Hazon's 
chest  the  day  he  visited  him  when  ill  in  bed  at  Johan- 
nesburg, but  he  had  never  asked  its  history ;  indeed,  it 
was  characteristic  of  the  strange  relations  in  which 
these  two  men  stood  to  each  other  that,  notwith- 
standing all  this  time  of  close  comradeship,  neither 
should  ever  have  asked  the  other  any  question  of  a 
personal  nature.  Characteristic,  too,  was  it  of 
Hazon's  method  that  this  piece  of  information  should 
have  been  vouchsafed  as  it  was.  Many  an  experience, 
strange  and  startling,  had  he  narrated  from  time  to 
time,  but  never  for  the  sake  of  narrating  it.  If  any- 
thing occurred  to  bring  it  forth,  out  it  would  come, 
carrying,  perhaps,  others  in  its  train,  but  ever  in  due 
sequence.  Even  Holmes,  the  impulsive,  who,  being 
young,  was  the  '  natural  man  '  of  the  trio,  had  long 
since  learned  that  to  ask  Hazon  for  a  yarn  was  the 
direct  way  not  to  get  one  out  of  him. 

"  Yes,"  went  on  Hazon,  "  that's  where  I  captured  it. 
203 


THE   SIGN    OF   THE   SPIDER 

"  Speaking  with  some  experience,  Isandhlwana  is  the 
toughest  thing  that  has  ever  travelled  my  way,  and  I 
don't  hanker  after  any  repetition  of  it  with  '  The 

people   of  the   Spider -'      Why,   what   does   this 

mean?" 

The  words,  quick,  hurried,  broke  off.  On  the  faces 
of  both  men  was  a  look  of  keen,  anxious  alertness. 
For  a  wild  and  fierce  clamour  had  suddenly  arisen 
and  was  drawing  nearer  and  nearer,  loud,  swelling, 
threatening. 


204 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

TWO    PERILS. 

"  JUST  what  I  feared,"  said  Hazon  calmly,  but  with 
ever  so  faint  a  glance  at  his  confederate.  "  Our 
people  are  in  revolt." 

Both  men  rose  to  their  feet,  but  leisurely,  and 
turned  to  confront  the  approaching  tumult.  And 
formidable  enough  this  was.  The  Wangoni  advanced 
in  a  compact  mass,  beating  their  shields  with  their 
spear-hafts,  yelling  in  concert  a  shrill,  harsh  battle- 
song,  into  which  they  had  managed  to  import  an 
indescribable  note  of  defiance,  announcing  their 
intention  of  returning  to  "  eat  up  "  those  they  had  so 
weakly  spared  the  previous  day.  On  either  side  of 
them  came  the  Arab  and  Swahili  element,  in  silence, 
however,  but  a  silence  which  was  no  less  ominous 
than  their  sullen  and  scowling  looks,  and  the  almost 
significant  gestures  wherewith  they  handled  their 
rifles. 

"  What  do  they  want,  Lutali?  "  said  Hazon,  turning 
to  the  Arab  who,  with  Holmes,  had  just  joined  the 
pair.  But  Lutali  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  his 
hawk-like  features  scarce  moved.  Then  he  said: 

"  Who  may  think  to  strive  against  the  hand  of 
Allah  and  that  of  his  Prophet?  Yon  foul  dogs,  even 
they — so  great  is  the  mercy  of  Allah — even  they 
might  have  been  turned  into  good  Moslemia,  even 
as  other  such  have  been  before  them.  Yet  we — we 

205 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

have  left  them  to  wallow  in  tt  e  mire  of  their  cannibal 
abominations.  Our  people  are  not  satisfied,  El 
Khanac,  and  they  fear  that  ill  may  come  of  it." 

"A  magnificent  and  comfortable  hypocrisy  that," 
said  Laurence,  in  English.  "  Such  combination  of 
soul-saving  and  slave-selling  is  unique."  Then,  in 
Swahili,  "  But  what  do  they  want,  Lutali?  " 

"  They  want  to  set  right  the  error  of  yesterday." 

"  But  the  Wangoni  don't  care  a  grain  of  rice  for 
Allah  and  his  Prophet,"  he  went  on.  "  Why,  then, 
are  they  dissatisfied?  " 

"  They  are  instruments  in  the  hands  of  those  who 
do.  It  is  so  written.  Allah  is  great.  Who  may  call 
in  question  his  decrees? "  replied  the  Arab,  in  the 
same  level  monotone.  "  Let  the  people  do  their  will, 
which  is  also  the  will  of  Allah." 

During  this  conversation  the  whole  party  had 
halted,  and  now  stood  in  a  great  semicircle  around 
the  white  leaders.  Then  Mashumbwe  spoke,  and  his 
words,  though  fairly  courteous,  managed  to  cover  an 
extremely  defiant  tone. 

"  Our  people  are  dissatisfied,  father,"  he  said,  ad- 
dressing Hazon.  "  They  desire  to  return  home." 

"Wherefore?"  asked  Hazon  shortly. 

"  Au!  they  came  forth  to  '  eat  up  '  other  tribes,  not 
to  spare  such.  They  are  dissatisfied." 

"  They'd  better  have  their  own  way,"  muttered 
Hazon,  in  English.  "  You  are  sacrificing  all  we  have 
done  and  obtained  this  trip  to  an  empty  whim.  How 
does  that  pan  out,  Stanninghame?  " 

"  I  hate  to  go  back  on  my  word,"  was  the  reply ; 
"  still  more  to  be  bullied  into  it." 

206 


TWO   PERILS. 

"Well  said!"  declared  Holmes  warmly. 

The  insurgents,  reading  the  expression  upon  the 
countenances  of  these  two,  broke  forth  into  tumult 
once  more.  Groans  and  mutterings  arose  among  the 
Arab  contingent,  while  the  Wangoni  uttered  wild 
laughing  whoops  of  defiance.  Nothing  would  be 
easier  than  to  slay  the  white  leaders.  A  single  volley 
would  lay  them  low.  The  position  was  critical,  peril- 
ous to  a  degree. 

"  We  go,  then,"  cried  Mashumbwe,  waving  his 
hand.  "  Fare  ye  well,  El  Khanac;  Afa,  fare  ye  well!  " 

But  before  his  followers  could  form  into  marching 
rank,  several  men  rushed  from  the  forest,  with  every 
appearance  of  importance  and  alarm.  Making 
straight  to  where  stood  their  white  leaders,  they  be- 
gan hurriedly  to  confer  with  the  latter. 

"  Your  discontent  was  needless,"  cried  Hazon,  after 
a  minute  or  two  of  such  conference,  turning  to  his 
rebellious  followers,  the  whole  body  of  whom  had  now 
paused  to  learn  what  tidings  these  had  brought. 
"  Your  discontent  comes  a  day  too  late.  Those  whom 
we  spared  have  even  now  been  eaten  up,  and  their 
village  given  over  to  the  flames." 

The  short,  sharp  gasp  of  amazement  which  greeted 
this  announcement  gave  place  to  growls  of  renewed 
discontent.  Some  rival  band  of  slave-hunters  had 
fallen  upon  the  village  and  taken  that  which  they 
themselves  had  so  weakly  left.  Such  was  their  first 
thought. 

"  The  Ba-gcatya  have  found  them,"  continued 
Hazon  calmly. 

If  there  had  been  marvel  before  in  the  ejaculation 
207 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

now  there  was  more.  There  was  even  a  note  of  dis- 
may. Forgetting  their  mutinous  intentions  now,  all 
crowded  around  their  white  leaders,  eager  to  learn 
full  particulars.  And  in  that  moment  Laurence,  ever 
observant,  was  not  slow  to  perceive,  both  in  the  looks 
and  tones  of  the  party,  quite  enough  to  confirm  all 
that  Hazon  had  said  as  to  the  terror  inspired  by  the 
very  name  of  the  redoubtable  Ba-gcatya.  Even  the 
savage  and  truculent  Wangoni  seemed  for  the  moment 
overawed.  It  was  striking,  too,  how,  in  the  hour  of 
impending  peril,  all  turned  to  the  white  leaders,  whom 
a  moment  before  they  had  been  entirely  defying  and 
more  than  half  threatening. 

"  The  Ba-gcatya  are  in  great  force,"  went  on 
Hazon,  as  calmly  as  though  he  were  merely  announc- 
ing the  proximity  of  one  more  well-nigh  defenceless 
and  slave-supplying  village.  "  We  shall  have  to  fight, 
and  that  hard,  but  not  here.  We  must  fight  them  in 
the  open." 

A  murmur  of  assent  went  up.  Every  head  was 
craned  forward,  eager  to  hear  more.  Briefly  and  con- 
cisely Hazon  set  forth  his  commands. 

Their  then  encampment  was  situate  on  the  edge 
of  the  forest  belt.  Beyond  the  latter  the  country 
stretched  away  in  vast,  well-nigh  treeless  plains.  Now 
a  peculiar  feature  of  these  plains  was  the  frequent 
recurrence  of  abrupt  granite  kopjes,  at  first  glance  not 
unlike  moorland  tors.  But  more  than  one  of  them, 
when  arrived  at,  wore  the  aspect  of  a  complete 
Druidical  ring — a  circle  of  stones  crowning  the  rise, 
with  a  slight  depression  of  ground  within  the  centre. 
One  of  these  Hazon,  who  had  been  over  the  ground 

208 


TWO  PERILS. 

before,  resolved  should  serve  them  as  a  natural  for- 
tress, whence  to  resist  the  fierce  and  formidable  foe 
now  advancing  against  them. 

With  surprising  readiness  the  march  began.  Loads 
were  shouldered  and  slaves  yoked  together  extra 
firmly.  Those  who  were  too  weak  to  keep  up  the 
pace — treble  that  of  the  normal  one — at  which  they 
were  hurried  forward,  were  ruthlessly  speared;  but 
whether  they  were  slain  by  their  captors  or  by  the 
pitiless  Ba-gcatya  mattered  but  little. 

The  kopje  which  Hazon  had  selected  was  situated 
about  four  miles  from  the  forest  belt.  No  better 
natural  fortress  could  have  been  chosen;  for  it  con- 
sisted of  a  complete  circle  of  low  rocks,  of  about  two 
hundred  yards'  diameter,  and  commanded  an  open 
sweep  of  at  least  a  mile  on  every  side.  Laurence  and 
Holmes  were  loud  in  their  admiration  and  interest. 

"These  are  old  craters,  I  reckon,"  said  Hazon; 
"  not  volcanic,  but  mud-springs.  This  plain,  you 
notice,  is  considerably  below  the  level  of  the  forest 
country.  Depend  upon  it,  the  thing  was  once  a  big 
swamp,  with  great  boiling,  bubbling  mud-holes." 

No  time  was  it,  however,  for  speculations  of  a 
scientific  nature;  and  accordingly  the  leaders  pro- 
ceeded to  dispose  their  lines  of  defence.  This  was 
soon  done,  for  the  three  white  men  and  Lutali  had 
arranged  all  that  during  the  march.  The  Wangoni 
were  of  no  great  use,  save  in  pursuit  of  a  defeated 
enemy.  They  could  hardly  have  hit  a  haystack  once 
in  six  shots,  nor  did  Hazon  care  to  intrust  with  fire- 
arms such  a  turbulent  and  unruly  crew.  But  the 
slavers  were  all  fair  marksmen — some  indeed,  among 

209 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

them  Lutali,  being  not  far  short  of  dead  shots.  These 
were  disposed  around  the  circle  of  rocks  so  as  to  form 
a  ring  of  fire;  and  the  rocks  themselves  were  height- 
ened wherever  necessary  with  some  of  the  loads,  or 
with  such  piles  of  loose  stones  as  could  be  collected 
in  time.  The  part  allotted  to  the  Wangoni  was  that 
of  a  reserve  force,  in  the  event  of  the  enemy  carrying 
any  given  point,  and  thus  necessitating  hand-to-hand 
conflict.  The  slaves,  firmly  secured,  were  placed  in 
the  center  of  the  great  circle. 

Hardly  were  these  dispositions  complete  than  a  cry 
of  astonishment,  of  warning  arose.  Far  away  over 
the  forest  country,  somewhat  to  the  right  and  left  of 
the  route  the  party  had  been  pursuing,  several  columns 
of  smoke  could  be  seen  mounting  to  the  heavens. 
There  were  other  villages,  then,  besides  the  one 
spared,  and  now  the  Ba-gcatya,  spreading  over  the 
land  in  their  immense  might,  were  firing  all  such  and 
massacring  the  inhabitants.  Many  and  various  were 
the  comments  which  arose  as  the  party  gazed  intently 
upon  the  distant  smoke  columns. 

"  If  only  as  a  change  from  knocking  on  the  head 
these  defenceless  devils,  it's  quite  a  blessed  relief  to 
have  some  real  fighting/'  quoth  Holmes. 

"  You'll  get  plenty  of  that,  Holmes,  within  the  next 
few  hours,"  remarked  Hazon  dryly. 

It  was  near  midday,  and  the  heat  was  torrid  and 
sweltering.  The  fierce  vertical  sun-rays  seemed  to 
pour  down  upon  their  unshaded  position  as  in  streams 
of  molten  fire.  Even  the  quick,  excited  murmurs  of 
the  men  grew  languid.  And,  having  seen  to  all  being 
in  complete  readiness,  as  Laurence  Stanninghame  sat 

210 


TWO   PERILS. 

there  at  his  post  in  the  torrid  heat,  smoking  the  pipe 
of  meditation,  did  no  thought  of  the  home,  such  as  it 
was,  but  which  he  would  probably  never  see  again, 
not  rise  up  before  him?  If  it  did,  it  was  only  to  con- 
firm him  in  the  conviction  that  the  present  position  of 
peril — whose  chances  he,  at  any  rate,  was  in  no  dis- 
position to  under-estimate — was  the  preferable  of  the 
two.  Here  freedom,  activity,  adventure ;  there  galling 
bondage,  stagnation,  a  ceasing  to  live.  Yes,  that  time 
indeed  seemed  very,  very  far  away.  He  felt  no 
shadow  of  inclination  towards  a  recurrence  thereof. 

Then,  suddenly,  with  magical  swiftness,  the  whole 
party  was  astir,  and  it  needed  a  sharp,  hurried  com- 
mand or  two  from  Hazon  and  Lutali  to  restrain  some 
from  leaping  on  the  rocks  in  order  to  obtain  a  better 
view  of  what  had  caused  the  alarm. 

Between  the  kopje  and  the  forest  belt  the  ground, 
save  for  an  occasional  roll,  was  entirely  visible.  Now, 
swarming  out  into  the  open,  came  masses  of  moving 
figures — fleeing  figures.  Hazon  and  Laurence,  who 
each  possessed  a  powerful  glass,  were  able  to  master 
the  situation  in  a  twinkling. 

Close  on  the  rear  of  the  fugitives  pressed  another 
multitude,  to  the  naked  eye  like  myriad  ants  upon 
the  far  plain,  but  to  those  who  scanned  them  through 
the  powerful  glasses  all  detail  was  vividly  distinct — 
the  lines  and  lines  of  tufted  shields,  the  gleam  of  spear 
blades,  the  streaming  feather  and  cow-hair  adorn- 
ments. 

And  now  the  hum  and  roar  of  the  wild  onslaught 
and  pursuit  grows  momentarily  louder,  drawing 
nearer  and  nearer.  A  great  cloud  of  dust  is  whirling 

211 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

onward,  and  athwart  it  the  gleam  of  steel,  rising 
and  falling,  the  distant  death-scream,  as  the  miserable 
fugitives  fall  ripped,  hacked  to  fragments  by  their 
ferocious  pursuers.  And  still  the  terrible  wave 
pours  on. 

"  This  is  going  to  be  a  hard  business,"  muttered 
Laurence  between  his  set  teeth.  "  How  many  do  you 
size  them  up  at,  Hazon?  " 

"  Twenty  thousand,  rather  more  than  less.  That's 
just  how  Cetywayo's  people  came  on  at  Isandhlwana, 
only  there  they  took  us  more  by  surprise.  Well,  we're 
not  a  lot  of  soldiers  here  anyway  to  scatter  all  over 
the  veldt.  If  they  take  this  position  they'll  have  to 
rush  it,  and  rush  it  hard.  Well,  do  you  believe  in  the 
Ba-gcatya  now,  Stanninghame?  " 

Save  a  nod  the  other  makes  no  answer,  and  now 
the  attention  of  both  men  is  upon  the  scene  before 
them. 

Some  few  of  the  fugitives,  in  the  desperation  of 
their  terror,  are  gradually  outstripping  their  pursuers. 
Against  these  whole  flights  of  casting  spears  are 
launched,  amid  roaring  shouts  of  bass  laughter. 
Finally  the  last  one  falls. 

And  now  the  array  of  the  enemy  is  but  half  a  mile 
distant  from  the  slaver's  position.  Far  over  the  plain, 
in  immense  crescent  formation,  the  barbarian  host 
sweeps  on,  now  in  dead  silence,  not  hesitating  a 
moment,  for  the  spoor  left  by  the  slavers  is  broad  and 
easy.  Now  it  can  be  seen  that  these  warriors  are  of 
splendid  physique.  Most  of  them  are  nearly  naked 
save  for  their  flowing  war-adornments  of  hair  or 
jackal-tails.  Many  are  crowned  with  towering  ostrich 

213 


TWO   PERILS. 

plumes,  both  black  and  white;  others  wear  balls  of 
feathers  surmounted  by  the  scarlet  tuft  of  the  egret; 
some,  again,  have  round  their  heads  bands  of  the  hide 
of  the  spotted  cat;  but  all  flaunt  some  wild  and  fan- 
tastic adornment.  And  the  great  hide  shields,  with 
their  party-coloured  facings  and  tufted  tops,  are  Zulu 
shields,  and  the  broad  stabbing  spear  is  the  Zulu 
wnkonto,  or  assegai. 

There  is  a  lurid  fascination  in  gazing  upon  the  awful 
splendour  of  this  fierce  and  formidable  battle-rank, 
which  set  even  Laurence  Stanninghame's  schooled 
nerves  tingling.  As  for  Holmes,  he  could  hardly 
remain  still  in  his  excitement.  But  in  Hazon's  pierc- 
ing eyes  there  was  a  glow  in  which  the  lust  of  combat, 
despair  of  success,  and  the  most  indomitable  resolve 
were  about  equally  intermingled.  The  countenance 
of  Lutali  betrayed  no  change  whatever.  The  bulk  of 
the  slave-hunters  were  scowling  and  eager;  but  the 
miserable  slaves,  realizing  that  massacre  awaited  them, 
were  moaning  and  trembling  with  fear.  Under  the 
slave-yoke  they  held  their  lives,  at  arty  rate,  but 
should  the  enemy  without  win  the  day,  why,  then, 
they  would  taste  the  steel  in  common  with  their  pres- 
ent oppressors.  The  Ba-gcatya  never  spared. 

Now  the  battle-rank  of  the  latter  underwent  a 
change.  From  each  end  of  the  great  crescent 
"  horns "  shot  out,  extending  farther  and  farther. 
Still  the  numbers  of  the  main  body  seemed  in  no  wise 
to  diminish.  The  rock-crowned  mound  was  encircled 
by  a  wall  of  living  men. 

Then  the  silence  was  rent  asunder,  and  that  in  most 
appalling  fashion.  From  twenty  thousand  fierce 

213 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE  SPIDER. 

throats  in  concert  went  up  the  war-shout — horrible, 
terrifying — combining  the  frenzied  roars  of  a  legion 
of  maniacs  with  the  snarls  and  baying  of  hounds  tear- 
ing down  their  prey.  One  there  had  heard  it  before, 
but  not  in  such  awful,  soul-curdling  volume  as  this. 
And  then,  with  heads  bent,  shields  thrust  forward, 
broad  spears  in  strong  ready  grip,  the  whole  circle  of 
the  Ba-gcatya  host  came  surging  up  the  slope. 


214 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   SIGN. 

CRASH!  crash!  A  long,  detonating  roar,  then 
crash!  again.  The  rock-circle  is  a  perfect  ring  of 
flame,  sheeting  forth  in  red  jets  athwart  the  hanging 
sulphurous  smoke.  Death-yells  are  mingling  with  the 
fearful  war-shout.  Shields  are  flung  high  in  the  air, 
and  dark  bodies,  leaping,  fall  forward  upon  their  faces, 
to  be  trampled  into  lifelessness  as  their  own  comrades 
tread  them  down,  not  pausing,  rushing  over  them  as 
they  lie. 

"No,  no!  no  quicker,"  reproves  Hazon,  who  is 
directing  here,  where  the  assailant's  force  is  the  strong- 
est, namely,  the  main  body,  the  isifuba  or  breast  of  the 
impi.  "  Fire  steadily  and  low,  as  before,  but  no 
quicker." 

His  followers  growl  a  ready  assent.  They  are 
unmitigated  ruffians,  but  terrible  and  determined 
fighters.  The  fanatical  fatalism  of  the  Mohammedan 
creed  renders  them  utterly  impervious  to  panic.  They 
keep  up  a  steady,  quick-loading  fire  into  the  charg- 
ing Ba-gcatya,  and,  aiming  low,  every  shot  tells,  com- 
mitting fearful  havoc  among  the  serried,  onrushing 
masses.  Yet  those  terrible  warriors  are  dauntless. 
Whole  lines  go  down;  still,  others  surge  over  them, 
and  now  the  charge  is  but  two  hundred  yards  from 
the  line  of  rocks. 

The  fore  ranks  hesitate,  then  come  to  a  halt, 
215 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE  SPIDER. 

crumpling  back  upon  those  behind  them.  The 
slavers,  with  a  shrill,  ringing  yell,  seeing  their  oppor- 
tunity, pour  a  frightfully  raking  volley  into  the 
momentarily  confused  mass.  Shields  are  clashed  to- 
gether, spears  wildly  waving.  For  the  moment  it 
seems  as  though  the  Ba-gcatya  were  fighting  with 
each  other,  striving  to  hew  their  way  through  their 
own  ranks  in  their  endeavours  to  escape  beyond  the 
reach  of  that  awful  and  destructive  fire. 

"  Give  it  to  them  again ! "  growls  Hazon,  a  lurid 
gleam  in  his  deep-set,  piercing  eyes.  "  But,  aim  low 
— aim  low! " 

Again  not  a  shot  is  thrown  away.  That  side  of 
the  savage  host  falls  back  hurriedly,  leaving  the 
ground  bestrewn  with  bodies,  dead,  dying,  crushed. 
A  perfect  storm  of  exultant  cheers  greets  this  move. 

But  if  a  temporary  retreat,  it  is  no  rout.  In 
obedience  to  a  rapidly-uttered,  whistling  signal,  fully 
one-half  of  the  main  body  swings  round  and  hurls 
itself  with  incredible  force  and  fury  upon  another 
point  of  the  rock-circle,  seemingly  the  weakest  point, 
for  here  the  rocks  are  low  and  apart,  and  have  to  be 
supplemented  with  bags  and  bales. 

Laurence  Stanninghame  is  in  command  here.  And 
now  his  dark  face  flushes  with  the  glow  of  a  mad  ex- 
citement, a  perfectly  transforming  exhilaration.  He 
would  thunder  his  commands  aloud,  but  that  a  deadly 
coolness  is  as  indispensable  almost  as  accuracy  of  aim. 
His  orders  are  the  same  as  Hazon's  and  uttered  as 
calmly — but  for  a  suppressed  tremor — and  as  audibly. 

The  very  earth  seems  to  rock  and  reel  beneath  the 
detonating  roll  of  the  volleys,  the  thunderous  rumble 

216 


THE   SIGN. 

of  charging  feet.  The  dark,  glaring  faces  of  warring 
demons,  the  flinging  aloft  of  shields,  the  groaning 
and  yells,  the  redness  of  the  sheeting  flames,  all  this 
renders  him  mad — mad  with  the  revel  of  conflict, 
with  the  herculean  determination  which  is  sublime 
above  death.  Here  again  whole  lines  of  the  enemy 
are  down.  Here  again  those  in  front  would  draw 
back  if  they  could,  but  the  immense  weight  behind 
hurls  them  on.  It  is  the  work  of  but  very  few 
moments. 

And  now  the  whole  of  the  Ba-gcatya  host  is 
circling  around  the  slaver's  position,  every  now  and 
again  making  a  furious  rush  upon  what  seems  a  weak 
point  of  the  defences.  But  the  defenders  have  a  way 
of  massing  upon  each  point  thus  attacked,  and  that 
with  a  celerity  which  is  truly  marvellous,  and  the  re- 
sult is  the  same.  Yet  with  each  repulse  the  terrible 
ranks  leap  forward  immediately,  and  every  such  charge 
brings  them  nearer  than  the  last.  Moreover,  as  each 
of  their  fighting  leaders  is  picked  off,  another  springs 
forward  with  unparalleled  intrepidity  to  take  his 
place.  The  while  the  barking  roar  of  their  terrific 
slogan  rends  the  air  in  its  most  demoniacal  clamour. 

Now  an  idea  takes  hold  on  the  minds  of  these 
ferocious  legionaries,  and  it  is  passed  like  lightning 
round  the  ranks.  Those  in  the  forefront  haul  up  the 
bodies  of  the  slain,  and,  holding  them  to  them, 
stagger  forward,  thinking  to  make  a  buckler  of  the 
dead  for  the  living.  But  the  terrible  rifles  of  the 
slavers  drive  their  unerring  missiles  at  that  short 
range  through  dead  and  living  alike,  and  corpse  is 
heaped  upon  corpse  in  ghastly  intertwining. 

217 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

In  the  thickest  of  the  tumult  Hazon  is  here,  there, 
everywhere — directing,  encouraging,  restraining.  But 
for  the  demon-glow  in  the  black  eyes  staring  from 
the  pale,  set  face,  the  man  might  have  been  made  of 
marble,  so  little  trace  of  emotion  of  any  kind  does  he 
display.  Laurence,  too,  is  wary  and  self-contained, 
though  getting  in  here  and  there  a  telling  shot. 
Holmes,  on  the  other  hand,  is  firing  away  as  fast  as 
he  can  load.  So  far  not  a  man  has  been  injured. 
The  assailants  are  not  quite  within  spear-throwing 
distance  yet. 

"  Ammunition  hold  out?  Oh,  yes,  we  have  plenty 
of  that,"  is  Hazon's  reply  to  a  rapid,  low-toned  query 
on  the  part  of  Laurence.  "  But  it's  time  they  turned 
tail.  Isandhlwana  was  nothing  to  this." 

But  now,  with  a  deafening,  vibrating  roar  the  Ba- 
gcatya,  massing  suddenly,  hurl  fully  one-half  of  their 
force  upon  the  point  directed  by  Lutali.  They  surge 
up  the  slope  in  one  dense  charge  of  lightning  swift- 
ness. Bullets  are  hailed  upon  them.  They  waver 
not.  The  hands  of  the  defenders  are  skinned  and 
blistered  by  contact  with  the  breeches  of  their  own 
rifles,  so  hot  have  these  become  through  quick  firing, 
and  still  the  firing  is  not  quick  enough.  Stumbling, 
leaping,  flying  over  the  defences  they  come — a  great 
cloud  of  dark,  grim  faces,  and  bared  teeth,  and  pro- 
truding eyeballs.  They  spring  upon  the  defences, 
then  over  them.  The  whole  might  of  the  redoubtable 
foe  is  pouring  into  the  natural  fortress. 

Now  ensues  a  scene  the  like  of  which  might  be 
paralleled,  but  hardly  surpassed,  by  some  lurid  drama 
of  hell.  In  jarring  shock  they  meet,  those  within  and 

218 


THE   SIGN. 

those,  till  now,  without — the  savage  legionaries  of 
"  The  Spider,"  and  the  no  less  savage  and  equally 
determined  slave-hunters.  The  Wangoni,  seeing  their 
chance,  have  sprung  forward  to  meet  and  roll  back 
the  assailants.  But  they  themselves  are  beaten  down 
by  the  broad  shields,  ripped  with  the  terrible  stabbing 
spears  of  the  ferocious  Ba-gcatya,  now  maddened  to 
assuage  their  blood-thirst,  and  whose  crushing  might, 
now  pouring  over  in  countless  numbers,  this  handful 
shall  never  hope  to  resist.  The  chief,  Mashumbwe, 
is  speared  and  ripped.  The  struggle  is  fierce  and 
hand-to-hand,  but  short.  The  Wangoni,  now  a  sorry 
remnant,  are  rolled  back  upon  their  allies. 

Of  these  not  a  man  but  knows  that  the  day  is  lost, 
that  flight  is  impossible;  that  if  the  other  half  of  the 
Ba-gcatya  host  has  not  swarmed  Dver  to  take  them 
on  the  rear,  it  is  only  because  it  is  waiting  to  receive 
on  its  spear  points  all  who  flee.  But  there  is  no 
thought  of  flight.  With  all  their  indifference  to 
human  suffering,,  with  all  their  brutality,  their 
savagery,  the  slavers  are  as  brave  as  any.  They  are 
indeed  men  picked  for  their  desperate  courage,  and 
now,  standing  back  to  back,  they  begin  to  render  the 
victory  of  the  Ba-gcatya  a  dearly  bought  one  indeed. 

The  war-shout  no  longer  rends  the  air.  There  is  a 
grim,  fell  silence  in  this  hand-to-hand  conflict,  broken 
only  by  the  snake-like  hiss  of  the  Ba-gcatya  as  an 
enemy  goes  down,  by  the  slap  and  shock  of  shield 
meeting  clubbed  gun  or  stabbing  knife,  by  the  gasps 
of  the  combatants.  The  cloud  of  powder  smoke 
hanging  overhead  partially  veils  the  sun,  which  glow- 
ers, a  blood-red  ball,  through  this  gloomy  shroud. 

219 


THE  SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

The  whole  space  within  the  rock-circle  is  a  very 
charnel-pit  of  corpses,  among  which  the  combatants 
stagger — victorious  Ba-gcatya  and  vanquished  slave- 
hunters  alike — stagger  and  slip  on  a  foothold  of  oozy 
gore ;  stab,  and  strike,  and  fall  in  their  turn. 

In  the  rush  and  the  melee  Laurence  Stanninghame 
has  become  separated  even  farther  from  his  com- 
rades,— his  white  comrades,  that  is,— nor  can  he  by 
any  effort  hope  to  rejoin  them.  Several  Arabs  are 
around  him,  his  own  followers,  swarthy  sons  of  the 
Prophet,  their  keen  eyes  flashing  hate  and  defiance 
upon  the  foe,  their  long  ataghans  sweeping  a  circle  of 
light  around  them.  In  their  forefront  is  Lutali — 
Lutali,  whirling  a  great  scimitar,  hewing  down  more 
than  one  of  the  too  venturesome  Ba-gcatya,  and  that 
in  spite  of  the  broad  bull-hide  shield  deftly  wielded — 
Lutali,  uttering  a  semi-religious  war-cry,  his  erect 
form  and  keen,  haughty  face  the  very  personifica- 
tion of  absolute  and  dauntless  valour.  And  he  him- 
self, wedged  in  by  those  around,  ca/i  still  get  in  now 
and  again  a  telling  shot  from  his  revolver,  and  with 
every  such  shot  one  more  warrior  of  "  The  Spider  " 
has  uttered  his  last  battle  cry. 

No,  there  is  no  hope.  Swift  as  lightning,  a  mighty 
brain-wave  surges  through  Laurence's  mind,  and  in  it 
he  sees  the  whole  of- his  past  life.  Yet  not  even  this 
dismays  him — rather  does  it  engender  a  sort  of  half- 
bitter  exultation.  Life  for  him  has  been  such  a  mis- 
take, and  that  not  through  any  fault  of  his  own.  It 
held  no  especial  charm  for  him.  All  its  sweetness  has 
been  concentrated  within  one  short  idyllic  period; 
but  even  that  could  not  have  lasted — even  to  it  would 

220 


THE  SIGN. 

have  come  disillusionment.  Lilith  would  never  learn 
his  fate.  It,  and  that  of  those  with  him,  would  vanish, 
as  others  had  done,  into  the  mysteries  of  this  great 
mysterious  continent.  All  this  and  more — so  light- 
ning-like is  the  power  of  thought — passes  through 
Laurence  Stanninghame's  brain  at  this  dread  and 
awful  moment. 

A  casting  spear  strikes  him  on  the  left  shoulder, 
penetrating  the  flesh.  Infuriated  by  the  sharp,  sicken- 
ing pang,  he  discharges  his  revolver  at  the  supposed 
thrower,  but  his  aim  is  uncertain.  Again  he  draws 
trigger.  The  hammer  falls  with  a  harmless  click ;  the 
chambers  are  empty.  And  now,  hard  pressed  by  the 
yelling  Ba-gcatya,  those  of  his  followers  yet  between 
him  and  the  enemy  stagger  back,  fighting  furiously, 
while  the  life-stream  wells  from  many  a  gashed  and 
gaping  wound.  No  longer  can  he  see  either  Hazon 
or  Holmes,  for  the  forest  of  waving,  reeking  spear 
blades.  Then  one  of  his  own  followers,  a  hulking 
Swahili,  mortally  wounded,  reels  and  falls,  and,  doing 
so,  bears'  back  Laurence  beneath  his  ponderous 
weight.  The  rock-rampart  is  immediately  behind 
him,  and  is  low  here.  It  catches  the  back  of  his 
knees,  and  now,  having  lost  all  control  over  his  bal- 
ance, grasping  at  empty  air  in  wild  effort  to  recover 
himself,  Laurence  pitches  heavily  backward  over  the 
rocks,  and  lies  half  stunned  upon  the  plain  without. 

Those  of  the  Ba-gcatya  host  in  waiting  on  that 
side  surge  tumultuously  forward,  uttering  yells  of 
savage  delight.  This  is  the  first  of  the  doomed 
slavers  who  lias  come  over;  and  he  a  white  man,  and 
of  course  a  leader.  Each  warrior  is  eager  to  bury  his 

221 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

spear-head  in  this  man's  body,  and  they  crowd  around 
him,  every  right  hand  raised  aloft  for  the  downward 
stroke. 

But  the  fatal  stroke  remains  undealt.  Broad 
blades  quiver  aloft  in  a  ring  of  steel.  Each  grim, 
bloodthirsty  countenance  is  set  and  staring,  stony  in 
its  indescribable  expression  of  mingled  marvel  and 
awe,  and  eyeballs  seem  to  start  from  their  sockets  as 
their  owners  stand  gazing  down  upon  this  prostrate 
white  man.  Then  from  each  broad  chest  a  gasp 
bursts  forth: 

"  Au!    The  Sign!    THE  SIGN  OF  THE  SPIDER!" 


223 


CHAPTER  XX. 
TO  WHAT  END! 

"THE  Sign  of  the  Spider!"  Laurence  Stanning- 
hame  lying  there,  his  faculties  half  dazed  by  the  shock 
of  his  fall  and  the  pain  of  his  wound,  hearing  the 
words — uttered  as  they  were  in  pure  Zulu — almost 
persuaded  himself  that  the  terrible  events  of  that  day 
had  been  a  dream.  But  no,  it  was  real  enough.  His 
half-unclosed  eyes  took  in  the  sea  of  grim,  dark  faces 
pressing  forward  to  gaze  upon  him.  "  The  Sign  of 
the  Spider?  "  What  did  it — what  could  it  mean,  that 
it  should  be  all-powerful  to  stay  those  devouring 
spears,  to  avert  from  him  the  grisly  death  of  blood, 
whose  bitterness  even  then  was  already  past?  Then, 
as  for  the  first  time,  he  suffered  his  glance  to  follow 
the  direction  of  theirs.  He  saw  a  strange  thing. 

The  metal  box  had  come  forth,  either  jerked  from 
its  resting-place  during  his  fall,  or  unconsciously 
plucked  thence  by  his  own  hand  in  the  last  moment 
of  his  extremity,  and  now,  still  secured  by  the  steel 
chain,  it  lay  upon  his  breast.  And  oh!  marvel  of 
marvels!  Gazing  thus  upon  it,  focussed  by  his  half- 
closed  eyelids  and  confused  senses — the  straggling 
monogram  with  its  quaint  turns  and  flourishes,  lying 
brown  upon  the  more  shining  metal,  steemed  to  take 
exactly  the  form  and  aspect  of  a  great  sprawling 
tarantula.  "  The  Sign  of  the  Spider  "  hz.d  been  their 

223 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

cry!  And  these  were  ''The  People  of  the  Spider!" 
What  magic,  what  mystery  was  this?  Lilith's  last 
gift,  Lilith's  image;  even  her  very  name!  It  had 
indeed  acted  as  a  talisman,  as  a  ''  charm  "  to  stand 
between  him  and  the  most  deadly  of  peril,  as  her  aspi- 
ration had  worded  it.  Verily,  again  had  Lilith's  love 
availed  to  stand  between  himself  and  a  swift,  sure,  and 
bloody  death !  A  marvel,  and  a  stupendous  one. 

All  this  flashed  through  his  mind  as  the  Ba-gcatya 
crowded  up  around  him,  the  hubbub  of  their  excited 
voices  sinking  into  an  awestruck  murmur  as  they 
gazed  upon  the  man  who  wore  "  The  Sign  of  the 
Spider."  No  wonder  this  man  should  have  come  forth 
alive  from  the  ring  of  death,  they  decided, — he  alone, 
— wearing  that  sign.  And  he  alone  had  come  forth. 

All  sounds  of  conflict  had  now  ceased,  giving  way 
to  the  exultant  shouts  and  bass  laughter  of  the  vic- 
torious savages  looting  the  property  of  the  slavers. 
Not  a  man  was  left  alive  up  there,  Laurence  knew 
only  too  well.  He  alone  was  spared,  as  the  bearer  of 
that  mysterious  sign;  was  spared,  miraculously  in- 
deed— but  to  what  end? 

Now  he  became  conscious  of  a  movement  among 
the  crowd,  which  parted  quickly,  respectfully. 
Through  the  opening  thus  effected  there  advanced  two 
men.  Both  were  fine,  tall  warriors,  elderly  of  aspect, 
for  their  short,  crisp  beards  were  turning  gray,  but 
apparently  in  the  very  prime  of  athletic  strength  and 
vigour.  In  outward  adornment  their  appearance 
differed  little  from  that  of  the  bulk  of  the  Ba-gcatya. 
Their  shaven  heads  were  surmounted  by  the  isicoco, 
or  ring,  exactly  after  the  Zulu  fashion,  and  on  either 

224 


TO   WHAT   END! 

side  of  this,  but  fastened  so  as  not  to  interfere  with  it, 
nodded  a  tuft  of  magnificent  white  ostrich  plumes. 
Laurence,  who  had  now  raised  himself  to  a  sitting 
posture,  felt  no  doubt  but  that  in  these  he  beheld  the 
two  principal  war-chiefs  of  the  Ba-gcatya  army. 

"  Who  art  thou,  stranger,  who  wearest  the  Sign  of 
the  Spider?  "  began  one  of  these  in  pure  Zulu,  after 
gazing  upon  him  for  a  moment  in  silence. 

Laurence  at  first  thought  to  affect  ignorance  of  the 
language,  of  which,  indeed,  he  possessed  considerable 
knowledge.  He  would  the  more  readily  get  at  their 
plans  and  intentions  that  way.  But  then  it  occurred 
to  him  he  could  hardly  sustain  his  character  as  one  to 
be  favoured  of  the  People  of  the  Spider  if  professing 
an  ignorance  of  their  tongue,  and  he  intended  to  work 
that  fortunate  incident  for  all  it  would  carry.  So  he 
replied  courteously: 

>l  You  see  me,  father.  I  alone  am  alive  of  those  who 
fought  up  yonder.  Even  the  spear  which  would  slay 
me  refused  its  work.  It  was  turned  aside,"  showing 
the  wound  in  his  shoulder,  of  which  he  realized  he 
must  make  light,  though,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was 
giving  him  considerable  pain. 

A  deep  murmur  from  the  vast  and  increasing  audi- 
ence convinced  the  speaker  that  he  had  scored  a  point 
in  making  this  statement.  The  chief  continued: 

"  Rest  now,  while  we  rest,  O  stranger,  and  eat,  for 
the  way  is  far  which  lies  before  us." 

"  And  whither  does  that  way  lie,  O  brave  ones 
who  command  the  valiant?  "  asked  Laurence. 

"  Where  dwelleth  the  Strong  Wind  that  burns  from 
the  North."  And  with  this  darkly  enigmatical  re- 

225 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

joinder  the  speaker  and  his  brother  chief  turned  away, 
as  a  sign  that  the  conference  need  proceed  no  further 
at  present. 

Some  of  those  who  had  heard  now  beckoned  Lau- 
rence forward,  and,  as  he  moved  among  that  terrible 
host,  many  and  strange  were  the  glances  which  were 
cast  at  him.  He,  for  his  part,  was  not  unmoved. 
This  was  an  experience  clean  outside  any  he  had 
ever  known.  The  might  and  stature  of  these  for- 
midable warriors,  lingering  around  in  immense 
groups,  many  of  them  bleeding  from  ghastly  wounds, 
yet  devouring  the  dried  food  they  carried,  the  while 
comrades  were  treating  their  hurts  after  a  fashion 
which  would  have  caused  the  civilized  being  to  shriek 
aloud  with  agony;  the  ferocious  volubility  wherewith 
they  discussed  and  fought  the  battle  over  again;  and 
away  beyond  their  lines,  the  earth  black  with  corpses 
of  the  slain;  while  up  yonder,  though  this  he  could 
not  see,  the  rock  circle  was  literally  piled  with  those 
who  had  been  his  friends  or  followers  for  many  a  long 
day.  All  this  impressed  him  to  an  extent  which  he 
had  hardly  deemed  possible,  though  of  any  outward 
evidence  thereof  he  gave  no  sign. 

"  Are  all  dead  up  yonder?  "  he  asked  some  of  the 
Ba-gcatya,  as  he  joined  them  in  their  frugal  fare. 

A  laugh,  derisive  but  not  discourteous  to  himself, 
greeted  the  question. 

"An!  The  bite  of  The  Spider  does  not  need 
repeating  twice,"  was  the  reply.  "  None  who  have 
once  felt  it  live." 

The  Ba-gcatya,  heavy  as  had  been  their  losses,  were 
in  high  good-humour  over  their  victory.  After  all,  it 

226 


TO   WHAT   END! 

was  a  victory,  and  a  hard-fought  one.  They  only 
lived  for  such.  Losses  were  nothing  to  them.  The 
spoils  of  the  slavers'  caravan — arms,  ammunition, 
goods  of  all  sorts,  were  distributed  for  transport 
among  the  younger  regiments  of  the  impi,  which,  its 
allotted  period  of  rest  over,  at  a  mandate  from  its 
chiefs  prepared  for  departure.  And  now  the  solitary 
white  man  in  its  midst — captive  or  guest,  he  himself 
was  hardly  certain  which — had  an  opportunity  of 
admiring  the  stern  and  iron  discipline  of  this  splendid 
army  of  savages.  That  of  the  Zulu  troops  under  the 
rule  of  Cetywayo,  or  even  under  that  of  Tshaka,  might 
have  equalled  it,  but  could  not  possibly  have  surpassed 
it.  Each  company  fell  into  rank  with  machine-like 
precision  and  celerity.  The  dead  were  left  as  they 
fell ;  those  who  were  too  grievously  wounded  to  move 
received  death  from  the  swift,  sure  spear-stroke  of  a 
comrade;  then,  marching  in  five  columns,  the  great 
army  set  forth  on  its  return,  striking  a  course  to  the 
northward. 

Laurence  Stanninghame's  feelings  were  passing 
strange  as  he  found  himself  thus  carried  captive,  he 
knew  not  whither,  by  this  mighty  nation  which  had 
hitherto  been  to  him  but  a  name,  as  to  whose  very 
existence  he  had  been  until  quite  recently  more  than 
half  sceptical.  Hazon  had  not  exaggerated  its  strength 
or  prowess;  no,  not  one  whit.  Of  that  he  had  had 
abundant  testimony.  And  Hazon  himself?  That 
strange  individual,  with  his  marked-out  personality, 
his  cold-blooded  ruthlessness  and  dauntless  courage? 
Well,  his  career  was  done.  He  lay  in  yonder  circle, 
buried  beneath  the  slain,  fighting  to  the  last  with 

227 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

fierce  and  consistent  valour.  And  Holmes?  Even 
Laurence's  hardened  nature  felt  soft  as  he  thought  of 
the  comrade  with  whom  he  had  been  so  closely  linked 
during  these  years  of  lawless  and  perilous  enterprise. 
Well,  they  were  gone,1  and  he  was  spared,  but — to 
what  end? 

Then  the  spirit  of  the  true  adventurer  reasserted 
itself.  What  lay  before  him?  What  were  the  chances 
opening  out  to  him  in  the  dim,  unknown  land  whither 
they  were  speeding?  "  You  will  return  wealthy,  or — 
you  will  not  return  at  all,"  had  been  Hazon's  words; 
and  now  their  utterer  would  utter  no  more  words  of 
any  kind — but  he,  Laurence,  would  he  return  at  all? 
Would  he? 

And  now,  as  they  gained  the  edge  of  the  great  plain, 
the  whole  impi  raised  a  mighty  battle-song,  impro- 
vised to  celebrate  their  triumph.  Its  fierce  strophes 
rolled  like  thunder  along  the  ranks  to  the  tread  of 
marching  feet,  and  the  multitude  of  hide  shields 
dappled  the  plain  far  and  near,  and  the  wavy  lines  of 
spear-points  flashed  and  sparkled  in  the  sunlight. 

And  already  over  the  wizard  ring  of  the  rock  circle, 
piled  with  its  slain,  immense  clouds  of  vultures  were 
wheeling  beneath  the  blue  vault  or  swooping  down 
upon  their  abundant  feast.  And  the  sun,  flaming 
down  upon  the  torrid  earth,  seemed  to  shed  a  pitiless, 
brassy  glare  upon  this  awful  hecatomb,  whose  annals 
should  ever  remain  unrecorded,  swallowed  up  in  the 
grim  and  gloomy  mysteries  of  that  region  of  cruelty 
and  of  blood. 

For  many  days  thus  they  journeyed — making  rapid, 
but  not  forced  marches.  The  aspect  of  the  country, 

228 


TO  WHAT   END! 

too,  varied, — open,  wavy  plains,  where  giraffe  and 
buffalo  were  plentiful,  and  were  hunted  in  great  num- 
bers for  the  supply  of  the  impi, — then  gloomy  forest 
tracts,  which  seemed  to  depress  the  Ba-gcatya,  who 
hurried  through  them  with  all  possible  speed.  Broad 
rivers,  too,  swarming  with  crocodiles  and  hippo- 
potami,— and  these  the  warriors  would  dash  through 
in  a  mass,  making  the  most  hideous  yelling  and 
splashing.  But  even  the  ground  seemed  gradually  to 
ascend,  and  certain  white  peaks,  for  some  time  visible 
on  the  far  sky  line,  were  drawing  nearer,  growing 
larger  with  every  march. 

It  may  seem  strange  how  readily  Laurence  Stann- 
inghame  adapted  himself  to  this  new  turn  in  the  tide 
of  his  affairs — and  indeed  now  and  again  he  would 
faintly  wonder  at  it  himself.  He  had  fought  against 
these  formidable  savages  in  the  most  determined  and 
bloody  hand-to-hand  conflict  that  had  ever  befallen 
his  lot,  or,  in  all  probability,  ever  would  again.  They 
had  overwhelmed  and  massacred  his  comrades  and 
whole  following;  sparing  himself  alone,  and  that  by  a 
miracle.  And  now  not  only  was  he  subjected  to  no 
ill-treatment  or  indignity,  but  moved  freely  among 
them,  and  was  even  suffered  to  retain  his  arms.  Yet 
there  was  a  sort  of  stand-offishness  about  most  of 
them,  in  which  he  thought  to  descry  a  mingling  of  awe 
and  repulsion. 

Now  and  again,  however,  a  thought  would  occur  to 
him, — a  thought  productive  of  a  cold  shiver.  To 
what  end  was  he  thus  spared?  Was  it  to  be  sacrificed 
in  some  hideous  and  gruesome  rite?  The  thought 
was  not  a  pleasant  one,  and  it  would  intrude  more  and 

229 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

more.  The  hot  African  glow,  the  adventurous  life, 
replete  with  every  phase  of  weird  and  depressing  inci- 
dent, had  strangely  affected  this  man's  temperament. 
With  all  his  coolness  in  emergencies — his  readiness 
of  resource — in  times  of  rest  he  would  grow  moody 
and  high-strung.  A  sort  of  surcharged,  mesmeric 
property  seemed  to  hold  him  at  such  times,  and  he 
would  wonder  whether  the  hideous  experiences  and 
iron  self-repression  which  he  had  passed  through  of 
late  had  not  begun,  unknown  to  himself,  actually  to 
affect  his  brain. 

Now  during  the  heat  of  the  midday  halt,  he  would 
withdraw  and  sit  alone  by  the  hour,  contemplating 
the  metal  box,  and  at  times  its  contents.  More  and 
more,  since  his  wonderful  escape,  was  it  assuming  in 
his  eyes  the  properties  of  an  amulet,  or  charm.  It 
would  reassure  him,  too,  what  time  unpleasant 
thoughts  would  weigh  upon  him  as  to  the  end  to 
which  he  had  been  reserved.  Twice  had  Lilith's  love 
stood  between  him  and  death.  Would  it  not  again? 
In  truth  the  metal  box  was  a  possession  beyond  price. 

All  unconsciously  his  frequent  and  rapt  contempla- 
tion of  this  object  was  standing  him  in  valuable  stead. 
The  Ba-gcatya,  furtively  beholding  him  thus  engaged, 
— for  he  was  never  beyond  their  watchful  gaze, — were 
strengthened  in  their  belief  that  he  was  a  magician 
of  the  Spider,  and  feared  him  the  more.  He  was  thus, 
unconsciously,  keeping  up  his  character  as  such. 

Yet,  vivid  as  recollection  was,  as  conjured  up  by 
the  metal  box,  in  other  respects  the  old  life  seemed 
far  away  as  a  dream;  misty,  shadowy,  vanishing. 
All  its  old  conventionalities,  its  abstract  notions  of 

230 


TO   WHAT   END! 

right  and  wrong,  what  were  they?  Dust.  Even  now, 
whither  was  he  wending?  Would  he  ever  again 
behold  a  white  face?  It  might  be  never. 

"  Have  no  white  people  ever  visited  your  country, 
Silawayo?  "  he  said  one  day  while  he  and  the  two 
war-chiefs  were  talking  together  during  the  march. 

"  One  only,"  was  the  reply,  given  with  a  shade  of 
hesitation. 

"  And  what  became  of  him?  " 

"  Au!  He  went  to Well,  he  went "  an- 
swered the  chief,  with  a  curious  look. 

The  reply  smote  upon  Laurence  with  a  cold  fear. 
What  grim  and  gruesome  form  of  mysterious  doom 
did  it  not  point  to?  "  One  only,"  Silawayo  had  said. 
He  himself  was  the  second.  It  seemed  ominous. 
But  it  would  never  do  to  manifest  curiosity,  let  alone 
apprehension,  on  his  own  account,  so  he  forebore  fur- 
ther query  as  to  the  mystery,  whatever  it  might  be. 
Yet  he  thought  it  no  harm  to  say: 

"  And  what  was  this  white  man,  Silawayo?  " 

"  He  was  Umfundisi "  (a  preacher),  answered  the 
other  chief,  Ngumunye.  "  The  king  loves  not  such." 

Well,  the  king  need  have  no  objections  to  himself 
on  that  score,  at  any  rate,  thought  Laurence,  with  a 
dash  of  grim  humour.  But  he  only  said: 

"  The  king?  Tell  me  about  your  king,  Izinduna. 
How  does  he  look?  What  is  his  name?  " 

"Haul  Is  it  possible,  O  stranger,  that  you  have 
never  heard  the  name  of  the  king?  "  said  Ngumunye, 
turning  upon  Laurence  a  blankly  astonished  face. 

"  Did  not  Silawayo  but  now  say  that  only  one  white 
man  had  visited  your  country — and  even  he  had  not 

231 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

returned?"  said  Laurence,  in  native  fashion  answer- 
ing one  query  with  another. 

"  Ha!  "  cried  both  chiefs,  whom  an  idea  seemed  to 
strike.  Then  Ngumunye  went  on  impressively: 

"  Look  around,  O  bearer  of  the  Sign  of  the  Spider. 
For  days  we  have  seen  no  man, — the  remains  of  huts 
have  we  seen,  but  of  people  none.  You  too  were 
remarking  upon  it  but  yesterday." 

;<  That  is  so,"  assented  Laurence. 

"  The  remains  of  huts,  but  of  people  none,"  repeated 
the  induna,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand.  "  Well,  stranger, 
that  is  the  name  of  the  king,  the  Great  Great  One." 

"  The  name  of  the  king?  " 

"ITyisandhlu!" 

"  ITyisandhlu?  The  Strong  Wind  that  burns  from 
the  North?  "  repeated  Laurence,  translating  the  name. 

"  E-he! "  assented  the  chiefs  emphatically.  "  Now 
say, — hath  not  a  broad  belt  around  the  land  of  the 
People  of  the  Spider  been  burned  flat?"  with  a  wave 
of  the  hand  which  took  in  the  desolated  region. 

They  had  gained  the  great  mountain  range  whose 
snowy  summits  had  been  drawing  nearer  for  days, 
and  a  noble  range  indeed  it  was  apparently,  more- 
over, of  immense  altitude.  Laurence  Stanninghame, 
who  was  well  acquainted  with  the  Alps,  now  gazed  in 
wonder  and  admiration  upon  these  snow-capped 
Titans  whose  white  heads  seemed  to  support  the  blue 
vault  of  heaven  itself,  to  such  dizzy  heights  did  they 
soar.  Walls  of  black  cliff,  overhung  with  cornices 
even  as  with  gigantic  white  eyebrows,  towered  up 
from  dazzling  snow  slope,  and  higher  still  riven  crags, 
split  into  all  fantastic  shapes,  frowned  forth  as  though 

232 


TO   WHAT   END! 

to  menace  the  world.  And  all  around,  clinging  about 
the  feet  of  these  stupendous  heights,  soft,  luxuriant 
forests,  tuneful  with  the  murmur  of  innumerable 
glacier  streams.  A  very  Paradise  of  beauty  and 
grandeur  side  by  side,  thought  Laurence — amid  which 
the  shields  and  spears,  the  marching  column  of  the 
savage  host  seemed  strangely  out  of  keeping. 

"  How  are  they  called,  those  mountains,  Sila- 
wayo?  "  he  said. 

"  Beyond  them  lies  the  land  of  the  People  of  the 
Spider,"  answered  the  induna  evasively.  And  the 
other  understood  that  he  must  not  look  for  exuber- 
ant information  on  topographical  subjects  just  then. 

They  entered  the  mountains  by  a  deep,  black  defile 
which  pierced  the  range.  For  a  day  and  night  they 
wound  through  this,  hardly  pausing  to  rest,  for  it  had 
become  piercingly  cold.  Moreover,  as  Silawayo  ex- 
plained, even  when  the  weather  was  at  its  highest 
stage  of  sultriness  elsewhere,  in  the  mountains  the 
changes  were  sudden  and  great.  To  be  snowed  up 
in  this  pass  was  too  serious  a  matter  to  risk. 

"  Was  it  the  only  gate  by  which  the  country  of  the 
Ba-gcatya  was  entered,  then?" 

But  Silawayo  did  not  seem  to  hear  this  question. 
He  descanted  learnedly  on  the  suddenness  of  the 
mountain  storms,  and  told  tales  of  more  than  one 
impi  which  had  set  forth  in  all  its  warlike  ardour,  and 
had  found  here  a  stiff  and  frozen  bed  whereon  its 
people  might  rest  for  all  time. 

The  while  keenly  alert  to  take  in  all  the  features 
of  the  route,  Laurence  affected  the  greatest  interest 
in  the  conversation  of  those  around  him.  But  there 

233 


THE  SIGN   OF   THE  SPIDER. 

was  that  about  the  dark  ruggedness  of  this  stupendous 
pass  that  weighed  heavily  upon  his  mind — that  de- 
pressed, well-nigh  appalled  him.  It  was  as  though 
he  were  passing  through  some  black  and  gloomy 
gate  which  should  shut  him  forever  from  the  outside 
world,  as  they  wound  their  way  now  where  the  cliffs 
beetled  overhead  so  as  to  shut  out  the  heavens,  now 
along  some  dizzy  ledge,  with  the  dull  roar  of  the 
mountain  stream  wafted  up  on  icy  gusts  from  far  be- 
low. He  suffered  severely  from  the  cold  too,  he  who 
had  breathed  the  moist,  torrid  heat  of  equatorial 
forests  for  so  long, — and  his  wound  became  congealed 
and  stiff.  Yet  he  bore  himself  heroically,  even  as  the 
Ba-gcatya  themselves,  who,  their  scanty  clothing 
notwithstanding,  seemed  to  feel  the  cold  not  one 
whit,  chatting  and  laughing  and  singing  while  they 
marched.  Finally  the  ground  descended  once  more, 
and  at  length — while  he  was  nodding  in  slumber  at 
the  dawn  of  day,  during  one  of  their  brief  rests — 
Ngumunye  touched  him  on  the  shoulder  and  beck- 
oned that  he  should  accompany  him.  Laurence  com- 
plied, and  when  they  had  gained  the  brow  of  a  gently 
rising  ridge  beyond,  an  exclamation  of  wonder  and 
admiration  burst  from  his  lips. 

"  Lo ! "  said  the  induna,  pointing  down  with  his 
knob-stick.  "  Lo!  there  lies  the  land  of  the  People 
of  the  Spider;  there  rests  the  throne  of  the  Strong 
Wind  that  burns  from  the  North.  Lo!  his  dwelling, 
— Imvungayo." 


234 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


THE   NORTH. 

FROM  where  they  stood  the  ground  fell  away  in 
great  wooded  spurs  to  a  broad  level  valley,  or  rather 
plain, — shut  in  on  the  farther  side  by  rolling  ranges 
of  forest-clad  hills.  The  valley  bottom,  green  and 
undulating,  was  watered  by  numerous  streams,  flash- 
ing like  bands  of  silver  ribbon  in  the  golden  glow  of 
the  newly  risen  sun.  Clustering  here  and  there,  five 
or  six  together,  were  kraals,  circular  and  symmetrical, 
built  on  the  Zulu  plan,  and  from  their  dome-shaped 
grass  huts  blue  lines  of  smoke  were  arising  upon  the 
still  morning  air.  Already,  dappling  the  sward,  the 
many  coloured  hides  of  innumerable  cattle  could  be 
seen  moving,  and  the  long  drawn  shout  and  whistle 
of  these  who  tended  them  rose  in  faint  and  harmoni- 
ous echo  to  the  height  whence  they  looked  down. 
Patches  of  broad,  flag-like  maize,  too,  stood  out,  in 
darker  squares,  from  the  verdancy  of  the  grass,  and 
bird  voices  in  glad  note  made  merry  among  the  cool, 
leafy,  forest  slopes.  Coming  in  contrast  to  the 
steamy  heat,  the  dank  and  gloomy  equatorial  vegeta- 
tion, the  foul  and  noisome  surroundings  of  the  canni- 
bal villages,  this  smiling  land  of  plenty  did  indeed 
offer  to  him  who  now  first  beheld  it  a  fair  and  blithe- 
some sight. 

235 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

But  another  object  attracted  and  held  the  attention 
of  the  spectator  even  more  than  all.  This  was  an 
immense  kraal.  It  lay  on  the  slope  at  least  ten  miles 
away,  but  with  the  aid  of  his  glass,  which  had  been 
returned  to  him  from  among  the  slavers'  loot,  Lau- 
rence could  bring  it  very  near  indeed.  The  yellow- 
domed  huts  lay  six  or  seven  deep  between  their  dark, 
ringed  fences,  the  great  circular  space  in  the  middle — 
the  isigodhlo,  or  inclosure  of  royal  dwellings  par- 
titioned off  at  the  upper  end — why,  the  place  might 
have  been  the  chief  kraal  of  Cetywayo  or  Dingane 
miraculously  transferred  to  this  remote  and  unex- 
plored region. 

"  Lo !  Imvungayo.  The  seat  of  the  Great  Great 
One — the  Strong  Wind  that  burns  from  the  North," 
murmured  Ngumunye,  interpreting  his  glance  of  in- 
quiry. "  Come — let  us  go  down." 

As  the  great  impi,  which  up  till  now  had  been 
marching  "  at  ease,"  emerged  upon  the  plain,  once 
more  the  warriors  formed  into  rank,  and  advanced  in 
serried  columns — singing  a  war-song.  Immediately 
the  whole  land  was  as  a  disturbed  beehive.  Men, 
women,  and  children  flocked  forth  to  welcome  them, 
the  latter  especially,  pressing  forward  with  eager 
curiosity  to  obtain  a  glimpse  of  the  white  man,  the 
first  of  the  species  they  had  ever  seen,  and  the  air 
rang  with  the  shrill,  excited  cries  of  astonishment 
wherewith  they  greeted  his  appearance,  and  the  calm, 
unruffled  way  in  which  he  ignored  both  their  presence 
and  amazement.  Much  singing  followed;  the  stay-at- 
homes  answering  the  war-song  of  the  warriors  in  re- 

236 


"THE   STRONG   WIND   THAT   BURNS." 

sponsive  strophes — but  there  was  little  variety  in 
these,  which  consisted  largely,  as  it  seemed  to  Lau- 
rence, of  exuberant  references  to  "  The  Spider  "  and 
praise  of  the  king. 

As  they  drew  near  the  great  kraal,  two  companies 
of  girls,  arrayed  in  beaded  dancing  dresses,  advanced, 
waving  green  boughs,  and,  halting  in  front  of  the  re- 
turning impit  sang  a  song  of  welcome.  Their  voices 
were  melodious  and  pleasing  to  the  last  degree,  im- 
parting a  singular  charm  to  the  somewhat  monoto- 
nous repetition  of  the  wild  chant — now  in  a  soft 
musical  contralto,  now  shrilling  aloft  in  a  note  of 
pealing  gladness.  Laurence,  who  was  beginning  to 
feel  vividly  interested  in  this  strange  race  of  valiant 
fighters,  failed  not  to  note  that  many  of  these  girls 
were  of  extraordinarily  prepossessing  appearance,  with 
their  tall,  beautiful  figures  and  supple  limbs,  their 
clear  eyes  and  white  teeth,  and  bright,  pleasing  faces. 
Then  suddenly  song  and  dance  alike  ceased,  and  the 
women,  parting  into  two  companies,  the  whole  impi 
moved  forward  again,  marching  between  them. 

The  huge  kraal  was  very  near  now,  the  palisade 
lined  with  the  faces  of  eager  spectators.  But  Lau- 
rence, quick  to  take  in  impressions,  noticed  that  here 
there  were  no  severed  heads  stuck  about  in  ghastly 
ornament.  This  splendid  race,  as  pitiless  and  un- 
sparing in  victory  as  it  was  intrepid  in  the  field,  was 
clearly  above  the  more  monstrous  and  revolting 
forms  of  savage  barbarity.  Then  all  further  reflec- 
tions were  diverted  into  an  entirely  new  channel,  for 
the  whole  impi — tossing  the  unarmed  right  hand  aloft 

23? 


THE   SIGN  OF  THE  SPIDER. 

— thundered  aloud  the  salute  royal,  then  fell  prostrate: 

"  Bayete! " 

The  roar — sudden,  and  as  one  man — of  that  multi- 
tude of  voices  was  startling,  well-nigh  terrifying. 
Laurence,  unprepared  for  any  such  move,  found  him- 
self standing  there — he  alone,  erect— while  around 
him,  as  so  much  mown  corn,  lay  prostrate  on  their 
faces  this  immense  company  of  armed  warriors.  Then 
he  took  in  the  reason. 

Just  in  front  of  where  the  impi  had  halted  rose  a 
small  cluster  of  trees  crowning  a  knoll.  Beneath  the 
shade  thus  formed  was  a  group  of  men,  in  a  half- 
squatting,  half-crouching  attitude — all  save  one. 

Yes.  One  alone  was  standing — standing  a  little  in 
advance  of  the  group — standing  tall,  erect,  majestic — 
in  a  splendid  attitude  of  ease  and  dignity,  as,  with 
head  thrown  slightly  back,  he  darted  his  clear  expres- 
sive eyes  proudly  over  the  bending  host.  A  man  in 
the  prime  of  life — a  perfect  embodiment  of  symmetry 
and  strength — he  wore  no  attempt  at  gew-gaws  or 
meretricious  adornment.  His  shaven  head  was 
crowned  with  the  usual  isicoco,  or  ring,  whose  jetty 
blackness  seemed  to  render  the  rich  copper  hue  of  the 
smooth  skin  even  lighter,  and  for  all  clothing  he  wore 
a  mutya  of  lion-skin  and  leopards'  tails.  Yet  Lau- 
rence Stanninghame,  gazing  upon  him,  recognized  a 
natural  dignity — nay,  a  majesty  enthroning  this 
nearly  naked  savage  such  as  he  had  never  seen  quite 
equalled  in  the  aspect  or  deportment  of  any  other  liv- 
ing man.  Clearly  this  was  the  king — Tyisandhlu — 
"The  Strong  Wind  that  burns  from  the  North." 
Removing  his  hat  with  one  hand  he  raised  the  other 

238 


-THE   STRONG  WIND   THAT   BURNS." 

above  his  head,  and  repeated  the  salute  royal  as  he 
had  heard  it  from  the  warriors. 

The  king  acknowledged  his  greeting  by  a  brief 
murmur.  Then  he  called  aloud: 

"  Rise  up,  my  children." 

As  one  man  that  huge  assembly  sprang  to  its  feet, 
— and  the  quivering  rattle  of  spear-hafts  was  as  a 
winter  gale  rushing  through  a  leafless  wood ;  with  one 
voice  it  began  to  thunder  forth  the  royal  titles. 

"O  Great  Spider!  Terrible  Spider!  Blood- 
drinking  Spider,  whose  bite  is  death!  O  Serpent! 
O  Elephant!  Thunderer  of  the  heavens!  Divider  of 
the  Sun!  House  Burner!  O  Destroyer!  O  All 
Devouring  Beast!  "  These  were  some  of  the  titles 
used — but  the  praisers  would  always  bring  back  the 
bonga  to  some  attribute  of  the  spider.  Laurence,  who 
understood  the  system,  noted  this  peculiarity,  differ- 
ing, as  it  did,  from  the  Zulu  practice  of  making  the 
serpent  the  principal  term  of  praise.  Finally,  as  by 
signal,  the  shouting  ceased,  and  the  principal  leaders 
of  the  impi,  disarming,  crept  forward,  two  by  two,  to 
the  king's  feet. 

Laurence  was  too  far  off  to  hear  what  was  said,  for 
the  tone  was  low,  but  he  judged,  and  rightly,  that  the 
chiefs  were  giving  an  account  of  the  expedition.  At 
length  the  king  dismissed  them,  and  pointing  with  the 
short  knob-stick  he  held  in  his  hand,  ordered  that  he 
himself  should  be  brought  forward. 

The  ranks  of  the  warriors  opened  to  let  him 
through,  and  as,  having  been  careful  to  disarm  in  turn, 
he  advanced,  Laurence  could  not  repress  a  tightening 
thrill  of  the  pulses  as  he  wondered  what  fate  it  was, 

239 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

as  regarded  himself,  that  should  now  fall  from  the  lips 
of  this  despot,  whose  very  name  meant  a  terror  and 
a  scourge. 

Tyisandhlu  for  some  moments  uttered  no  word, 
but  stood  gazing  fixedly  upon  his  prisoner  in  con- 
templative silence.  Laurence,  for  his  part,  was  study- 
ing, no  less  attentively,  the  king.  The  finely  shaped 
head  and  lofty  brow — the  clear  eyes  and  oval  face, 
culminating  in  a  short  beard,  whose  jetty  thickness 
just  began  to  show  here  and  there  a  streak  of  gray, 
— the  noble  stature  and  erect  carriage,  impressed  him 
even  more,  thus  face  to  face,  than  at  a  distance. 

"  They  say  thou  bearest  the  Sign  of  this  nation, 
O  stranger,"  began  the  king,  speaking  in  the  Zulu 
tongue,  "  and  that  to  this  thou  owest  thy  life." 

"  That  is  true,  Great  Great  One,"  answered  Lau- 
rence. 

"But  how  know  we  that  the  Sign  is  genuine?" 
continued  Tyisandhlu. 

"  By  this,  Father  of  the  People  of  the  Spider.  Not 
once  has  it  stood  between  me  and  death,  but  twice, 
and  that  at  the  hands  of  your  people." 

A  murmur  of  astonishment  escaped  his  hearers. 
But  the  king  said: 

"  When  was  this  other  time? — for  such  would,  in 
truth,  be  something  of  a  test." 

Then  Laurence  told  the  tale  of  his  conflict  with 
the  Ba-gcatya  warriors  beneath  the  tree-fern  by  the 
lagoon — and  the  murmur  among  the  listeners 
deepened. 

"  I  was  but  one  man,  and  they  were  twelve,"  he 
concluded.  "  Twelve  of  the  finest  warriors  in  the 

240 


"THE   STRONG  WIND  THAT  BURNS." 

world,  even  the  warriors  of  the  People  of  the  Spider. 
Yet  they  could  not  harm  me,  see  you,  Great  Great 
One.  They  could  not  prevail  against  the  man  who 
held — who  wore  the  Sign  of  the  Spider." 

Now  an  emphatic  hum  arose  on  the  part  of  all  who 
heard — and  indeed  there  had  been  a  silence  that  might 
be  felt  while  he  had  been  narrating  his  tale.  More 
than  ever  was  Laurence  convinced  that  in  deciding 
to  tell  it  he  had  acted  with  sound  judgment.  He  had 
little  or  nothing  to  fear  from  the  vengeance  of  the  rela- 
tives of  those  he  had  slain — for  he  had  seen  enough  of 
these  people  to  guess  that  they  did  not  bear  a  grudge 
over  the  fortunes  of  war — over  losses  sustained  in 
fair  and  open  fight.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  he  had 
immensely  strengthened  his  own  case. 

"  Yet,  you  made  common  cause  with  these  foul  and 
noisome  Izimu"*  said  the  king,  shifting  somewhat 
his  ground.  "  These  carrion  dogs,  who  devour  one 
another,  even  their  own  flesh  and  blood?  " 

"  I  but  spared  one  of  their  villages,  O  Great  North 
Wind.  For  the  rest,  how  many  have  I  left  stand- 
ing?" 

;<  That  is  so,"  said  Tyisandhlu,  still  gazing  fixedly 
at  his  prisoner.  Then  he  signed  the  latter  to  retire 
among  the  warriors,  and,  turning,  gave  a  few  rapid 
directions  in  a  low  voice  to  an  attendant. 

In  the  result,  a  group  of  armed  warriors  was  seen 
hurrying  forward,  and  in  its  midst  a  man,  unarmed — 
a  man  ragged  and  covered  with  dried  blood,  and  with 
his  arms  ignominiously  bound  behind  him.  And 
wild  amazement  was  in  store  for  Laurence.  He  had 

*  Cannibals. 
241 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE  SPIDER. 

reckoned  himself  the  sole  survivor  of  the  massacre. 
Yet  now  in  this  helpless  and  ill-treated  prisoner  he 
recognized  no  less  a  personage  than  Lutali. 

His  body  and  limbs  slashed  with  many  spear- 
wounds — his  clothing  cut  to  ribbons — his  half-starved 
and  filthy  aspect — as  he  was  hustled  forward  into  the 
king's  presence,  the  Arab  would  have  looked  a  pitiable 
object  enough  but  for  one  thing.  The  dignity  be- 
gotten of  high  descent  and  indomitable  courage  never 
left  him — not  for  one  moment.  Weak  as  he  was  with 
loss  of  blood  and  the  pain  of  his  untended  and  morti- 
fying wounds — the  glance  of  his  eyes,  no  less  than  the 
set  of  his  keen,  hawk-like  face,  was  as  proud,  as  fear- 
less, as  that  of  the  king  himself. 

"  Down,  dog!  "  growled  the  guards,  flinging  him 
forward  on  his  face.  "  Lick  the  earth  at  the  feet  of 
the  Great  North  Wind,  whose  blast  kills !  " 

But  immediately  Lutali  staggered  to  his  feet,  and 
the  hell  blast  of  hate  and  fury  which  shone  from  his 
eyes  was  perfectly  demoniacal. 

"  There  is  but  one  God,  and  Mohammed  is  the 
prophet  of  God !  "  he  roared.  "  Am  I  to  prostrate 
myself  before  an  infidel  dog — the  chief  dog  of  a  pack 
of  dogs?  This  for  the  scum!"  And  he  spat  full 
towards  Tyisandhlu. 

An  indescribable  shiver  of  awe  ran  through  the 
dense  and  serried  ranks  of  armed  warriors,  followed 
by  a  terrible  tumult. 

"  Au!  he  is  mad!"  cried  some;  while  others 
clamoured,  "  Give  him  to  us,  Great  Great  One.  We 
will  put  him  to  the  fiery  death!  " 

But  the  king  returned  no  word.  It  is  even  possible 
242 


"THE   STRONG  WIND  THAT   BURNS." 

that  his  own  intrepid  soul  was  moved  to  admiration 
by  the  sublime  courage  of  this  man — his  prisoner, 
bound,  helpless,  weakened — standing  thus  before  him 
— before  him  at  whose  frown  men  trembled — face  to 
face,  and  thus  defying  him.  One  other  who  beheld 
it,  the  sight  must  have  powerfully  moved,  for  with 
a  lull  in  the  tumult  a  voice  rose  clear  and  dis- 
tinct: 

"  Spare  him,  O  Great  Great  One,  for  he  is  a  brave 
man." 

If  anyone  had  told  Laurence  Stanninghame  but  an 
hour  earlier  that  he  was  about  to  commit  so  rash  and 
suicidal  an  act  as  to  beg  the  life  of  another  at  the  hands 
of  a  grossly  insulted  despot,  and  in  the  face  of  an 
enraged  nation,  he  would  have  scouted  the  idea  as 
too  weakly  idiotic  for  words.  Yet,  in  fact,  he  had 
just  committed  that  very  act.  Deep  and  savage  were 
the  resentful  growls  that  greeted  his  words.  "Au! 
he  presumes!  He  shares  in  the  insult  offered  to  the 
majesty  of  the  king,"  were  some  of  the  ominous  mut- 
terings  that  went  forth. 

The  king  merely  glanced  in  the  direction  of  the 
speaker,  and  said  nothing.  But  Lutali,  becoming 
aware  for  the  first  time  of  the  presence  of  his  former 
confederate,  turned  towards  the  latter. 

"  Ask  not  my  life  at  the  hands  of  these  dogs,  these 
unclean  swine,  Afa,"  he  cried ; — "  lo,  Paradise  awaits 
to  receive  the  believer.  I  hasten  to  it;  I  enter  it;" 
and  he  threw  back  his  head  fearlessly,  while  his  eyes 
shone  with  a  fanatical  glare. 

"  Spare  him,  O  king,  for  he  is  a  brave  man,"  urged 
Laurence  again. 

243 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

"  And  so  art  thou,  I  think,"  replied  Tyisandhlu, 
turning  a  somewhat  haughty  stare  upon  the  speaker. 
Then  he  muttered,  "  Yet  not  this  one." 

An  interruption  occurred;  gruesome,  grotesque.  A 
number  of  figures,  seeming  to  spring  from  no  one 
knew  where,  were  seen  gliding  forward.  They  were 
coal  black  from  head  to  foot,  and  their  faces  were 
more  like  masks  than  the  human  countenance,  being 
bedaubed  with  some  pigment  that  gave  each  of  them 
the  aspect  of  possessing  two  huge  goggle  eyes.  But 
these  horrible  beings  seemed  at  first  sight  to  have  no 
arms  and  no  legs,  their  whole  anatomy  being  encased 
in  a  sort  of  black,  hairy  sacking,  whence  tails  and 
streamers,  also  hairy,  flapped  in  the  air  as  they  moved. 
Hideous,  indeed,  they  looked, — hideous  and  gro- 
tesque, half  reptile,  half  devil. 

They  surrounded  Lutali — all  in  dead  silence,  the 
guards  precipitately  falling  back  to  give  them  way. 
Then  the  king  spoke,  and  his  words  were  gentle  and 
mocking: 

"  Go  now  to  thy  Paradise,  O  believer;  these  will 
show  thee  the  way.  Hamba-gahle!" 

He  waved  his  hand,  and.  in  obedience  to  the 
signal,  the  whole  group  of  black  horrors  fastened  upon 
the  Arab  and  dragged  him  away.  And  from  all  who 
beheld  there  went  up  a  deep,  chest  note  of  exclama- 
tion that  was  part  satisfaction,  part  awe. 

The  king,  having  received  further  reports  and 
attended  to  other  business  connected  with  the  army, 
withdrew.  Laurence,  watching  the  stately  person- 
ality of  this  splendid  savage  retiring  amid  the  groups 
of  indunas  towards  the  gate  of  the  great  kraal,  felt  his 

244 


"THE   STRONG  WIND   THAT   BURNS." 

ever-present  conjectures  as  to  his  own  fate  merge  in 
a  vivid  sense  of  interest.  But  Tyisandhlu  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  his  existence,  for  he  bestowed  no 
further  word  upon  him ;  however,  he  was  taken  charge 
of  by  Ngumunye,  who  assigned  him  a  large  hut 
within  the  roval  kraal. 


245 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE   SHADOW   OF   THE   MYSTERY. 

THE  next  few  days  were  spent  by  the  Ba-gcatya  in 
dancing  and  ceremonial — and  by  Laurence  Stanning- 
hame  in  trying  to  find  out  all  he  could  about  the 
Ba-gcatya.  He  laid  himself  out  to  make  friends 
with  them,  and  this  was  easy,  for  the  natural 
suspiciousness  wherewith  the  savage  invariably  re- 
gards a  new  acquaintance,  once  fairly  laid  to  rest,  the 
Ba-gcatya  proved  as  chatty  and  genial  a  race  of  people 
as  those  of  the  original  Zulu  stock.  But  on  one  point 
the  lips  of  old  and  young  alike  were  sealed,  and  that 
was  the  fate  of  Lutali.  No  word  would  they  ever  by 
any  chance  let  fall  as  to  this;  but  the  awed  silence 
wherewith  they  would  treat  all  mention  of  it,  and  their 
hurried  efforts  to  change  the  subject,  added  not  a 
little  to  the  impression  the  last  glimpse  of  his  Arab 
confederate  had  made  upon  Laurence.  What  awe- 
some, devilish  mystery  did  not  those  hideous  beings 
represent? 

For  the  rest,  he  learned  that  these  people  were  of 
Zulu  stock,  and  having  opposed  the  accession  of 
Tshaka,  when  that  potentate  usurped  the  royal  seat 
of  Dingiswayo,  had  deemed  it  advisable  to  flee. 
They  had  migrated  northward,  even  as  Umzilikazi 
and  his  followers  had  done,  though  some,  years  prior 

246 


THE   SHADOW   OF   THE   MYSTERY. 

to  the  flight  of  that  chieftain.  But  they  were  nothing 
if  not  conservative,  and  so  intent  was  the  king  on 
preserving  the  pure  Zulu  blood,  that  he  was  chary  of 
allowing  any  slaves  among  them.  As  it  was,  the  issue 
of  all  slaves  had  no  rights,  and  could  under  no  cir- 
cumstances whatever  rise  above  the  condition  of 
slavery.  And  Laurence,  noting  the  grand  physique, 
and  even  the  handsome  appearance,  of  the  sons  and 
daughters  of  this  splendid  race,  had  no  doubt  as  to 
the  wisdom  of  such  a  restriction. 

Now,  as  the  days  went  by,  there  began  to  grow 
upon  Laurence  a  sort  of  restfulness.  The  terrible 
conflict  and  merciless  massacre  of  his  friends  and  fol- 
lowers had  impressed  him  but  momentarily,  accus- 
tomed as  he  was  to  scenes  of  horror  and  of  blood — and 
indeed  in  direct  contrast  to  such  did  he  the  more 
readily  welcome  the  peaceful  tranquillity  of  his  present 
life.  For  the  dreaded  Ba-gcatya  at  home  were  a 
quiet  and  pastoral  race — owning  extensive  herds  of 
cattle — also  goats  and  a  strange  kind  of  large-tailed 
sheep — though,  true  to  their  origin,  horned  cattle 
formed  the  staple  of  their  possessions,  and  the  land 
around  the  king's  great  palace  was  dappled  with  graz- 
ing stock,  and  the  air  was  musical  with  the  singing  of 
women  hoeing  the  millet  and  maize  gardens. 

Then  again,  the  surrounding  country  swarmed  with 
game,  large  and  small,  from  the  colossal  elephant  to 
the  tiny  dinkerbuck.  To  Laurence,  passionately 
fond  of  sport,  this  alone  was  sufficient  to  reconcile  him 
to  his  strange  captivity — for  a  time.  He  would  be  the 
life  and  soul  of  the  Ba-gcatya  hunting  parties,  and 
skill  and  success,  together  with  his  untiring  energy 

247 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

and  philosophical  acceptance  of  the  hardships  and 
vicissitudes  of  the  chase,  went  straight  to  the  hearts 
of  these  fine,  fearless  barbarians.  He  became  quite  a 
favourite  with  the  nation. 

The  female  side  of  the  latter,  too,  looked  upon  him 
with  kindly  eyes.  He  would  chaff  the  girls,  when  he 
came  upon  them  wandering  in  bevies,  as  was  their 
wont,  and  tell  them  strange  stories  of  other  condi- 
tions of  life,  until  they  fairly  screamed  with  laughter, 
or  brought  their  hands  to  their  mouths  in  mute 
wonder. 

"  Whau,  Nyonyoba,  why  do  you  not  lobola  for 
some  of  these?  "  said  Silawayo  one  day,  coming  upon 
him  thus  engaged.  "  Then  you  could  dwell  among 
us  as  one  of  ourselves." 

"  One  might  do  worse,  induna  of  the  king,"  he 
returned  tranquilly,  with  a  glance  at  the  group  of 
bright-faced,  merry,  and  extremely  well-shaped  dam- 
sels, whom  he  had  been  convulsing  with  laughter. 

"  You!  Listen  to  our  father,"  they  cried.  "  He  is 
joking,  indeed.  Yau!  Farewell,  Nyonyoba.  Fare 
thee  well."  And  they  sped  away,  still  screaming  with 
laughter. 

The  old  induna  looked  quizzically  after  them,  then 
at  Laurence.  Then  he  took  snuff. 

"  One  might  do  worse,  Silawayo,"  repeated  Lau- 
rence. "  I  have  known  worse  times  than  those  I  have 
already  undergone  here.  But  all  I  possess  I  have 
lost.  My  slaves  your  people  have  killed,  and  my  ivory 
and  goods  the  king  has  taken,  leaving  me  nothing 
but  my  arms  and  ammunition.  Tell  me,  then,  do  the 
Ba-gcatya  give  their  daughters  for  nothing,  or  how 

248 


THE   SHADOW   OF   THE    MYSTERY.  ' 

shall  a  man  who  is  so  poor  think  to  set  up  a  kraal 
of  his  own?  " 

The  induna  laughed  dryly. 

"  We  are  all  poor  that  way,  for  all  we  own  belongs 
to  the  king.  Yet  the  Great  Great  One  is  open  handed. 
He  might  return  some  of  your  goods,  Nyonyoba." 

This,  by  the  way,  was  Laurence's  sobriquet  among 
these  people,  bestowed  upon  him  by  reason  of  his  skill 
and  craft  in  stalking  wild  game. 

It  was  even  as  he  had  said.  This  raid  had  gone 
far  towards  undoing  the  results  of  their  lawless  and 
perilous  enterprise — a  portion  of  his  gains  were  safe, 
but  this  last  blow  was  of  crippling  force.  And  only 
a  day  or  so  prior  to  it  he  had  been  revelling  in  the 
prospect  of  a  speedy  return  to  civilized  life,  to  the 
enjoyment  of  wealth  for  the  remainder  of  his  allotted 
span.  He  recalled  the  misgivings  uttered  by  Holmes, 
that  wealth  thus  gained  would  bring  them  no  good, 
for  the  curse  of  blood  that  lay  upon  it.  Poor  Holmes ! 
The  prophecy  seemed  to  have  come  true  as  re- 
garded the  prophet — but  for  himself?  well,  the  loss 
reconciled  him  still  more  to  his  life  among  the 
Ba-gcatya. 

Of  Tyisandhlu  he  had  seen  but  little.  Now  and 
then  the  king  would  send  for  him  and  talk  for  a  time 
upon  things  in  general,  and  all  the  while  Laurence 
would  feel  that  the  shrewd,  keen  eyes  of  this  barbarian 
ruler  were  reading  him  like  a  book.  Tyisandhlu, 
moreover,  had  expressed  a  wish  that  a  body  of  picked 
men  should  be  armed  with  the  rifles  taken  from  the 
slavers,  and  instructed  in  their  use;  and  to  this  Lau- 
rence had  readily  consented. 

249 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

"Yet  consider,  Ndabezita," *  he  had  said,  "is  it 
well  to  teach  them  reliance  on  any  weapon  rather  than 
the  broad  spear?  For  had  your  army  possessed  fire- 
weapons,  never  would  it  have  eaten  up  our  camp  out 
yonder.  It  would  have  spent  all  its  time  and  energy 
shooting,  and  that  to  little  purpose.  It  would  have 
had  time  to  think,  and  then  the  warriors  would 
have  brought  but  half  a  heart  to  the  last  fierce 
charge, 

"  There  is  much  in  what  you  say,  Nyonyoba," 
replied  the  king;  "yet,  I  would  try  the  experiment." 

So  the  indunas  were  required  to  select  the  men, 
and  about  three  hundred  were  organized,  and  Lau- 
rence, having  spent  much  care  in  their  instruction, 
soon  turned  out  a  very  fair  corps  of  sharp-shooters. 
No  scruple  had  he  in  thus  increasing  the  fighting 
strength  of  this  already  fierce  and  formidable  fighting 
race,  to  which  he  had  taken  a  great  liking.  He  even 
began  to  contemplate  the  contingency  of  ending  his 
life  among  them,  for  of  any  return  to  civilization  there 
seemed  not  the  remotest  prospect;  and,  indeed,  rather 
than  return  without  the  wealth  for  which  he  had  risked 
so  much,  he  preferred  not  to  return  at  all. 

Even  the  memory  of  Lilith  brought  with  it  pain 
rather  than  solace.  After  all  this  time — years  indeed, 
now — would  not  his  memory  have  faded?  The  life 
he  had  led  tended  to  foster  such  memory  in  himself, 
but  with  her  it  was  otherwise.  All  the  conditions  of 
her  daily  life  tended  rather  to  dim  it.  That  sweet, 
short,  passionate  episode  had  been  all  entrancing  while 

*  A  term  of  deference  frequently  used  in  addressing  one  of  the 
royal  family. 

250 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE   MYSTERY. 

it  lasted ;  yet  was  it  not  counterpoised  by  the  certainty 
that  with  women  of  her  temperament  such  episodes 
are  but  episodes?  All  the  bitter  side  of  his  philosophy 
cried  aloud  in  the  affirmative. 

He  had  now  been  several  months  among  the  Ba- 
gcatya;  and  had  long  since  ceased  to  feel  any  misgiv- 
ing as  to  his  personal  safety  at  their  hands.  But  his 
sense  of  security  was  destined  to  receive  a  rude  shock, 
and  it  came  about  in  this  way. 

Returning  one  day  from  a  hunt,  at  some  distance 
from  Imvungayo,  he  had  marched  on  ahead  of  his 
companions,  and,  the  afternoon  being  hot,  had  lain 
down  in  the  shade  of  a  cluster  of  trees  for  a  brief  nap. 
From  this  the  buzz  of  muttering  voices  awakened 
him. 

At  first  he  paid  no  attention,  reckoning  that  the 
remainder  of  the  party  had  come  up.  But  soon  a 
remark  which  was  let  fall  started  him  very  wide 
awake  indeed,  and  at  the  same  time  he  recognized  that 
the  voices  were  not  those  of  his  present  companions, 
but  of  strangers.  From  a  certain  quaver  or  hesi- 
tancy in  the  tones,  he  judged  them  to  be  the  voices  of 
old  men. 

"  Whau!  The  spider  must  be  growing  hungry 
again.  It  is  long  since  he  has  drunk  blood." 

"  Not  since  the  son  of  Tondusa  assumed  the  head- 
ring/'  answered  the  other. 

"  And  now  a  greater  is  about  to  assume  the  head- 
ring,"  went  on  the  first  speaker,  "  even  Ncute,  the  son 
of  Nondwana." 

"The  brother  of  the  Great  Great  One?" 

"  The  same,"  asserted  the  first  speaker,  in  that 
251 


THE    SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

sing-song  hum  in  which  natives,  when  among  them- 
selves, will  carry  on  a  conversation  for  hours. 

Now  the  listener  was  interested  indeed.  On  the 
mysterious  subject  of  "  The  Spider  "  the  Ba-gcatya 
had  been  close  as  death.  No  hint  or  indication  tend- 
ing to  throw  light  upon  it  would  they  let  fall  in  reply 
to  any  question,  direct  or  indirect.  Now  he  was 
going  to  hear  something.  These  men,  unaware  of 
his  presence,  and  talking  freely  among  themselves, 
would  certainly  afford  more  than  a  clew  to  it. 
Nondwana,  the  king's  brother,  he  suspected  of  being 
not  over  favourably  disposed  towards  himself,  possibly 
through  jealousy. 

"That  will  be  when  the  second  moon  is  at  full?" 
continued  one  of  the  talkers. 

"  It  will.  Ha!  The  Spider  will  receive  a  brave 
offering.  Yet  how  shall  it  devour  one  who  bears  its 
Sign?" 

"  It  may  not,"  rejoined  the  other.  "  Haul  that  will 
in  truth  be  a  test — if  the  sign  is  real." 

One  who  bears  its  Sign!  The  listener  felt  every 
drop  of  blood  within  him  turn  cold,  freeze  from  head 
to  foot.  What  sort  of  devil-god  could  it  be  from 
which  this  nation  derived  its  name,  and  which  these 
were  talking  about  as  one  that  devoured  men? 

He  that  bears  its  Sign!  The  words  could  apply  to 
none  other  than  himself.  He  had  deduced  that, 
although  the  Ba-gcatya  held  cannibalism  in  abhor- 
rence, yet  from  time  to  time  human  sacrifices  of  very 
awesome  and  mysterious  nature  took  place,  and  that 
on  certain  momentous  occasions — the  accession  or 
death  of  a  king,  of  an  heir  to  any  branch  of  the 

252 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

royal  house,  or  such  a  one  as  this  now  under  discus- 
sion— the  admission  to  full  privileges  of  manhood  of 
a  scion  of  the  same.  And  the  sacrifice  on  this  occasion 
was  to  consist  of  himself?  To  this  end  he  had  been 
spared — even  honoured. 

"  It  will  in  truth  be  a  test,  for  some  doubt  that  the 
Sign  as  worn  by  this  stranger  hath  any  magic  at  all," 
continued  one  of  the  talkers.  "  If  he  comes  out  un- 
harmed— haul  that  will  be  a  marvel,  indeed — a 
marvel,  indeed." 

"E-he!"  they  assented.  Then  they  fell  to  talk- 
ing of  other  things,  and  soon  the  concealed  listener 
heard  them  rise  up  and  depart. 

Laurence  decided  to  wait  no  more  for  his  com- 
panions. He  wanted  to  be  alone  and  think  this 
matter  out.  So  when  the  voices  of  the  talkers  had 
fairly  faded  beyond  earshot  he  left  the  cluster  of  trees 
on  the  farther  side  and  took  his  way  down  the 
mountain  slope. 

A  ghastly  fear  was  upon  him.  The  horror  and 
mystery  of  the  thing  got  upon  even  his  iron  nerves — 
the  suddenness  of  it  too,  just  when  he  had  lulled  him- 
self into  a  complete  sense  of  security.  Had  he  learned 
in  like  fashion  that  he  was  to  be  slain  in  an  ordinary 
way  at  a  given  time  it  would  not  have  shaken  him 
beyond  the  ordinary.  But  this  thing — there  was 
something  so  devilish  about  it.  What  did  it  mean? 
Was  it  some  grotesque  idol  worked  by  mechanism, 
even  as  in  the  old  pagan  temples — to  which  human 
sacrifices  were  offered?  Or — for  he  could  not  can- 
didly discredit  all  the  wierd  and  marvellous  tales  and 
traditions  of  some  of  these  up-country  tribes,  de- 
ass 


THE   SHADOW   OF   THE   MYSTERY. 

graded  and  man-eating  as  they  were — was  it  some 
unknown  and  terrifying  monster  inhabiting  the  dens 
and  caves  of  the  earth?  Whatever  it  was,  he  knew 
too  well,  of  course,  that  the  coincidence  which  had  so 
miraculously  resulted  in  the  sparing  of  his  life  at  the 
hands  of  the  victorious  Ba-gcatya,  reeking  with 
slaughter,  would  stand  him  in  nowhere  here.  He  re- 
membered the  mystery  hanging  over  the  fate  of 
Lutali,  and  those  horrible  beings  who  had  hauled  the 
Arab  to  his  doom,  whatever  it  was,  who  indeed  might 
well  constitute  the  priesthood  of  the  unknown  devil- 
god. 

Surely  never  indeed  had  earth  presented  a  fairer 
scene  than  this  upon  which  the  adventurer's  eyes 
rested,  as  he  made  his  way  down  the  mountain-side. 
The  calm,  peaceful  beauty  of  the  day,  the  golden 
sunlight  flooding  the  plain  beneath,  the  great  circle 
of  Imvungayo,  and  the — by  contrast — tiny  circles  of 
lesser  kraals  scattered  about  the  valley  or  crown- 
ing some  mountain  spur,  and,  mellow  upon  the 
stillness,  the  distant  low  of  cattle — the  singing  of 
women  at  work  mingling  with  the  soft  voices  of  a 
multitude  of  doves  in  cornlands  and  the  surrounding 
forest-trees.  Yet  now  in  the  white  peaks  towering 
to  the  cloudless  heavens,  in  the  black  and  craggy 
rifts,  in  the  wide,  rolling,  partially-wooded  plains — 
the  hunter's  paradise — this  man  saw  only  a  gloomy 
wizard  circle,  inclosing  some  horrible  inferno,  the 
throne  of  the  frightful  demon-god  of  this  extraor- 
dinary race. 

Then  it  occurred  to  Laurence  that  he  had  better 
not  let  this  thing  get  too  much  upon  his  nerves.  It 

254 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

was  the  result  of  inaction,  he  told  himself.  Several 
months  of  rest  and  tranquillity  had  begun  to  turn  him 
soft.  That  would  not  do.  He  had  got  to  look  mat- 
ters in  the  face  fairly  and  squarely.  The  ceremony 
which  was  to  bring  him  to  what  would  almost  certainly 
be  a  fearful  fate  was  set  for  the  fall  of  the  second  moon, 
the  talkers  had  said — but  of  this  he  had  been  already 
aware,  for  the  chief  Nondwana  and  his  son  were  both 
well  known  to  him.  That  would  give  him  a  little  over 
six  weeks.  Escape?  Nothing  short  of  a  miracle 
could  effect  that,  he  told  himself,  remembering  the 
immense  tract  of  desolate  country  surrounding  the 
fastnesses  of  the  Ba-gcatya,  and  the  ferocious  canni- 
bal hordes  which  lay  beyond  these,  and  who  indeed 
would  wreak  a  vengence  of  the  most  barbarous  kind 
upon  their  old  enemy  and  scourge,  the  slaver-chief, 
did  they  find  him  alone,  and  to  that  extent  no  longer 
formidable,  in  their  midst. 

The  friendship  of  the  king?  No.  That  was  based 
on  superstition,  even  as  the  friendship  of  the  entire 
nation.  Even  it  was  assumed  for  an  end.  Again, 
should  he  boldly  challenge  the  pretensions  of  the 
demon-god,  whatever  it  might  be,  and  asserting  him- 
self to  be  the  real  one,  offer  to  slay  the  horror  in  open 
conflict?  Not  a  moment's  reflection  was  needed, 
however,  to  convince  him  of  the  utter  impracticability 
of  this  scheme.  The  cherished  superstition  of  a  great 
nation  was  not  to  be  uprooted  in  any  such  rough-and- 
ready  fashion.  The  only  way  of  escape  left  open  to 
him  was  that  of  death — death  swift  and  sudden — the 
death  of  the  suicide — to  escape  the  greater  horror. 
But  from  this  he  shrank.  The  grim  hardness  of  his 

255 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

recent  training  had  nerved  him  rather  to  face  peril 
than  to  avoid  it.  He  did  not  care  to  contemplate  such 
a  way  out  of  the  dilemma.  He  was  cornered.  There 
was  no  way  of  escape. 

And  then,  as  he  walked  thus,  thinking,  and  think- 
ing hard,  in  the  fierce,  desperate,  clearheadedness  of  a 
strong,  cool-nerved  man  face  to  face  with  despair,  a 
voice — a  female  voice,  lifted  in  song — sounded  across 
his  path,  nearer  and  nearer.  And  now  a  wave  of  hope, 
of  relief,  surged  through  Laurence  Stanninghame's 
heart,  for  there  flooded  in  upon  him,  as  with  an  in- 
spiration, a  way  out  of  the  situation.  For  he  knew 
both  the  voice  and  the  singer,  and  at  that  moment 
a  turn  in  the  bushes  brought  the  latter  and  himself 
face  to  face. 


256 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

LINDELA. 

A  WOMAN,  young,  tall,  perfectly  proportioned,  light 
of  colour,  and  with  the  bright  and  pleasing  expression 
common  among  the  well-born  of  the  Ba-gcatya 
maidens,  enhanced  by  large  lustrous  eyes,  lips  parted 
in  a  smile  half-startled,  half-coquettish,  revealing  a 
row  of  teeth  of  dazzling  whiteness  of  unrivalled  even- 
ness. She  wore  a  mutya  or  skirt  of  beautiful  bead- 
work,  and  a  soft  robe  of  dressed  fawn-skin  but  half 
concealed  the  splendid  outlines  of  her  frame.  Withal 
there  was  an  aspect  of  dignity  in  her  erect  carriage, 
and  the  pose  of  her  head,  which  the  Grecian  effect  of 
the  impiti,  or  cone  into  which  her  hair  was  gathered 
above  the  scalp,  went  far  to  enhance.  She  was  not 
alone — two  other  young  women,  also  attractive  of 
aspect,  being  in  attendance  upon  her,  though  these 
held  somewhat  in  the  background. 

"  Greeting,  Nyonyoba,"  she  began,  in  a  sweet  and 
musical  voice.  "  I  was  startled  for  a  moment — here 
where  I  expected  to  find  none." 

"  To  thee,  greeting,  daughter  of  the  great,"  returned 
Laurence,  for  this  girl  was  a  princess  of  the  highest 
rank  in  the  nation,  being,  in  fact,  a  daughter  of  Nond- 
wana  the  king's  brother — that  same  chief  whose  son's 
accession  to  manhood  was  to  be  the  occasion  of  his 
own  departure  to  another  sphere.  Nor  was  it,  indeed, 
the  first  time  these  two  had  talked  together. 

257 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

"And  why  are  you  sad  and  heavy  of  countenance, 
Nyonyoba?  Was  the  hunt  bad — the  game  scarce?" 
she  went  on,  with  a  quick  searching  glance  into  his 
eyes. 

"  Not  so,"  he  answered.  "  Those  who  are  with  me 
bring  on  much  ivory  for  the  king's  treasury.  For 
yourself,  Lindela,  I  found  a  bright-plumaged  and  rare 
bird,  which  I  will  stuff  and  set  up  for  you." 

The  girl  uttered  a  cry  of  delight,  and  her  face 
brightened.  It  so  happened  that  Laurence  was  some- 
thing of  a  taxidermist,  and  had  already  stuffed  a  few 
birds  and  small  animals  for  the  chief's  daughter,  who 
was  as  delighted  with  her  increasing  "  museum  "  as 
any  child  could  have  been.  Now,  in  her  unfeigned 
glee  over  the  prospect  of  a  new  specimen,  Lindela 
looked  extremely  attractive;  and  noting  it,  an  uncon- 
scious softness  had  crept  into  the  man's  tone.  Even 
the  girls  behind  noticed  it,  and  whispered  to  each 
other,  sniggering: 

"  Haul  Isityeli!  Quite  a  wooer!  Nyonyoba  is 
hoeing  up  new  land." 

"  Withdraw  a  little  from  these,  Lindela,"  he  said  in 
a  lowered  tone;  "  I  would  talk." 

The  chief's  daughter  made  a  barely  perceptible 
sign,  but  her  attendants  understood  it,  and  remained 
where  they  stood. 

"  The  success  or  failure  of  a  hunt  is  a  small  thing. 
Such  does  not  render  a  man  heavy  of  countenance," 
he  went  on,  when  they  were  beyond  earshot. 

"  What  does,  then?  "  said  the  girl,  raising  her  large 
eyes  swiftly  to  his. 

"  Sorrow — parting.  Such  are  the  things  which 
258 


LINDELA. 

make  life  dark.  I  have  dwelt  long  among  your 
people,  and  at  the  prospect  of  leaving  them  my  heart 
is  sore." 

As  the  last  words  left  his  lips,  Laurence  learned  in 
just  one  brief  flash  of  a  second  exactly  what  he  wanted 
to  know.  But  the  look  of  startled  pain  in  Lindela's 
face  gave  way  to  one  of  surprise. 

"  Of  leaving  them?  "  she  echoed.  "  Has  the  Great 
Great  One,  then,  ordered  you  to  begone,  Nyonyoba?  " 

"  Not  yet.  But  it  will  be  so.  Listen!  At  the  full 
of  the  second  moon." 

A  cry  escaped  her.  She  understood.  For  a  mo- 
ment the  self-control  of  her  savage  ancestors  entirely 
forsook  her.  She  became  the  child  of  nature — all 
human. 

"  It  shall  not  be!     It  shall  not  be!  " 

The  passion,  the  abandonment  in  the  soft,  liquid 
Zulu  tone — in  the  large  eyes,  transforming  the  whole 
attractive  face — touched  even  him — penetrated  even 
the  scaly  armour  which  encased  his  hardened  heart. 
Considerations  of  expediency  no  longer  reigned  there 
alone  as  he  stood  face  to  face  with  the  chief's  daugh- 
ter. She  was  a  magnificent  specimen  of  womanhood, 
he  decided,  gazing  with  unfeigned  admiration  upon 
her  splendid  frame,  upon  the  unconscious  grace  of  her 
every  movement. 

"  If  I  go,  I  return  not  ever,"  he  went  on,  resolved 
to  strike  while  the  iron  was  hot — to  strike  as  hard  as 
he  knew  how.  "  Yet  how  to  remain — for  the  brother 
of  the  king  is  so  great  a  chief  that  he  who  would  ap- 
proach him  with  lobola  *  would  need  to  own  half  the 

*  Payment  of  cattle  made  to  the  father  of  a  girl  sought  in  marriage. 
259 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

wealth  of  the  Ba-gcatya  people.  Now  I,  who  owned 
much  wealth,  am  yet  poor  to-day,  for  the  Ba-gcatya 
have  killed  all  my  slaves,  and  the  king  has  taken  my 
ivory  and  goods." 

The  girl's  eyes  sparkled.  Perhaps  she  too  had 
learned  something  she  wanted  to  know;  indeed,  it 
must  have  been  so,  for  her  whole  face  was  lit  up  with 
a  gladsome  light,  a  wonderfully  attractive  light. 

"  Perchance  the  king  will  return  some  of  it,"  she 
said.  "  Yet  you  are  a  white  man,  and  strong,  Ny- 
onyoba — are  all  white  men  like  you,  I  wonder? — and 
can  overcome  all  difficulties.  Listen!  You  shall  not 
leave  us  at  the  full  of  the  second  moon.  Now,  fare- 
well— and — forget  not  my  name."* 

There  was  a  grandeur  of  resolution  in  her  tone,  in 
her  glance,  as  she  uttered  these  last  words,  her  lus- 
trous eyes,  wide  and  clear,  meeting  his  full.  Lau- 
rence, standing  there  gazing  after  the  tall,  retreating 
form  of  the  chiefs  daughter,  felt  something  like  a 
sense  of  exultation  stealing  over  him.  His  scheme 
seemed  already  to  glow  with  success.  He  had  sus- 
pected for  some  time  that  Lindela  regarded  him  with 
more  than  favour;  and  indeed,  while  weighing  the 
prospect  of  casting  in  his  lot  with  the  Ba-gcatya,  he 
had  already  in  his  own  mind  marked  her  out  to  share 
it.  Now,  however,  the  thing  had  become  imperative. 
In  order  to  save  not  merely  his  life,  but  to  escape  a 
fate  which  brooded  over  him  with  a  peculiarly  haunt- 
ing horror,  he  had  got  to  do  this  thing,  to  take  to 
wife,  according  to  the  customs  of  the  Ba-gcatya,  the 

*"  Lindela"  means  to  "wait  for" — in  the  sense  of  "to  watch 
for,"  hence  the  full  significance  of  the  parting  remark. 

260 


LINDELA. 

daughter  of  Nondwana,  the  niece  of  the  king.  Then 
not  a  man  in  the  nation  dare  raise  a  hand  against 
him;  and  the  dour  priesthood  of  the  Spider  might 
look  further  for  their  victim — and  might  find  in  their 
selection  one  much  more  remote  from  the  throne. 

And  now  that  he  was  face  to  face  with  the  prospect, 
it  struck  him  as  anything  but  an  unpleasing  one. 
Such  an  alliance  would  place  him  among  the  most 
powerful  chiefs  in  the  land.  All  the  ambition  in  the 
adventurer's  soul  warmed  to  the  prospect.  To  be 
high  in  authority  among  this  fine  race,  part-ruler 
over  this  splendid  country,  sport  in  abundance,  and 
that  of  the  most  enthralling  kind — war  occasionally; 
to  dwell,  too,  in  the  strong  revivifying  air  of  these 
grand  uplands !  Why,  a  man  might  live  forever  under 
such  conditions. 

And  the  other  side  of  the  picture — what  was  it? 
Even  if  he  returned  to  civilization — even  if  it  were 
possible — he  would  now  return  almost  as  poor  as  he 
had  quitted  it, — to  the  old  squalid  life,  with  its  shifts 
and  straits.  His  whole  soul  sickened  over  the  recol- 
lection. Nothing  could  compensate  for  such — noth- 
ing. Besides,  put  nakedly,  it  amounted  to  this:  His 
experiences  of  respectability  had  been  disastrous. 
They  had  been  such  as  to  draw  out  all  that  was 
latently  evil  in  his  nature,  and,  indeed,  to  implant 
within  him  traits  which  at  one  time  he  could  never 
have  suspected  himself  capable  of  harbouring.  Physi- 
cally it  had  reduced  his  system  to  the  lowest.  All 
things  considered,  he  could  not  think  that  the  ad- 
venturous life — hard,  unscrupulous,  lawless  as  it  was 
— had  changed  him  for  the  worse.  It  had  developed 

261 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

many  good  traits,  and  had  enabled  him  to  forget  many 
evil  ones. 


"  I  would  have  speech  with  the  king." 
Those  who  sentinelled  the  gate  of  the  great  kraal, 
Imvungayo,  conferred  a  moment  among  themselves, 
and  immediately  two  men  were  sent  to  learn  the  royal 
pleasure  as  to  the  request.  Laurence  Stanninghame, 
awaiting  their  return,  was  taciturn  and  moody,  and 
as  he  gazed  around  his  one  thought  was  lest  his 
scheme  should  miscarry.  The  sun  had  just  gone 
below  the  western  peaks,  and  a  radiant  afterglow  lin- 
gered upon  the  dazzling  snow  ridges,  flooding  some 
with  a  roseate  hue,  while  others  seemed  dyed  blood- 
red.  Long  files  of  women,  calabash  on  head,  were 
wending  up  from  the  stream,  singing  as  they  walked, 
or  exchanging  jests  and  laughter,  their  soft,  rich 
voices  echoing  melodiously  upon  the  evening  stillness. 
Even  the  shrill  "  moo  "  of  cattle,  and  the  deep-toned 
voices  of  men — mellowed  by  distance,  came  not  in- 
harmoniously  from  the  smaller  kraals  which  lay 
scattered  along  the  hillside;  and  but  for  the  shining 
spearheads  and  tufted  shields  of  the  armed  guard  in 
the  great  circle  of  Imvungayo,  the  scene  was  a  most 
perfect  one  of  pastoral  simplicity  and  peace.  And 
then,  as  the  gray,  pearly  lights  of  evening,  merging 
into  the  sombre  shades  of  twilight,  drew  a  deepening 
veil  over  this  scene  of  fair  and  wondrous  beauty,  once 
more  the  words  of  Lindela,  in  all  their  unhesitating 
reassurance,  seemed  to  sound  in  this  man's  ears,  re- 
kindling the  fire  of  hope  within  his  soul, — perchance 
rekindling  fire  of  a  different  nature. 

262 


LINDELA. 

"  The  Great  Great  One  awaits  you,  Nyonyoba." 

Laurence  started  from  his  reverie,  and,  accom- 
panied by  two  of  the  guards,  proceeded  across  the 
great  open  space  in  silence.  At  the  gate  of  the 
isigodhlo,  an  inclosure  made  of  the  finest  woven 
grass,  and  containing  the  royal  dwellings,  he  depos- 
ited his  rifle  on  the  ground,  and,  deliberately  unbuck- 
ling the  strap  of  his  revolver  holster,  placed  that 
weapon  behind  the  other;  and  thus  unarmed,  accord- 
ing to  strict  Zulu  etiquette,  he  prepared  to  enter.  An 
inceku,  or  royal  household  servant,  received  him  at 
the  gate,  and  the  guards  having  saluted  and  with- 
drawn, he  was  ushered  by  the  attendant  into  the 
king's  presence. 

The  royal  house,  a  large,  dome-shaped,  circular  hut, 
differed  in  no  respect  from  the  others,  save  that  it 
was  of  somewhat  greater  size.  Laurence,  standing 
upright  within  it,  could  make  out  three  seated  figures, 
the  shimmer  of  their  head-rings  and  the  occasional 
shine  of  eyeballs  being  the  only  distinct  feature  about 
them.  Then  somebody  threw  an  armful  of  dry  twigs 
upon  the  fire  which  burned  in  the  centre,  and  as  the 
light  crackled  up  he  saw  before  him  the  king  and  the 
two  fighting  indunas,  Ngumunye  and  Silawayo. 

"  Bayete!  "  he  exclaimed,  lifting  his  hat  courteously. 

"  I  behold  you,  Nyonyoba,"  replied  the  king. 
"Welcome — be  seated." 

With  a  murmur  of  acknowledgment,  Laurence 
subsided  upon  the  grass  mat  which  had  been  placed 
for  him  by  the  inceku,  who  had  followed  him  in. 
Then  there  was  silence  for  a  few  moments,  while  a 
couple  of  women  entered,  bearing  large  clay  bowls  of 

263 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

tyivala,  or  native  beer;  and  the  liquor  having  been 
apportioned  out  according  to  etiquette,  the  attend- 
ants withdrew,  leaving  Laurence  alone  with  the  king 
and  the  two  indunas. 

"  And  the  hunt,  has  it  been  propitious?"  began 
Tyisandhlu  presently. 

"  It  has.  Ten  tusks  of  ivory  are  even  now  being 
brought  in,"  replied  Laurence.  "  Also  an  unusually 
fine  leopard  skin  which  fell  to  my  bullet,  and  which 
I  would  beg  the  king  to  accept." 

"  You  are  a  great  hunter,  Nyonyoba — a  very  great 
one.  Whau!  The  Ba-gcatya  will  become  too  rich 
if  you  tarry  long  among  us,"  said  Tyisandhlu  quiz- 
zically, but  evidently  pleased  at  the  news.  "  We  shall 
soon  be  able  to  arm  the  whole  nation  with  the  fire- 
weapons,  now  that  we  have  so  much  ivory  to  trade 
with  the  northern  peoples." 

Something  in  the  words  struck  Laurence.  "  If 
you  tarry  long  among  us,"  the  king  had  said.  Even 
these  were  ominous,  and  made  in  favour  of  the  sinister 
design  he  had  so  accidentally  discovered.  Yet  could 
this  courtly  hospitality,  of  which  he  was  the  object, 
indeed  cover  such  a  horrible  purpose?  Well,  he 
dare  not  bolster  himself  up  with  any  hope  to  the  con- 
trary, for  now  many  and  many  an  incident  returned 
to  his  mind,  little  understood  at  the  time,  but,  in  the 
light  of  the  conversation  he  had  overheard,  as  clear 
as  noonday.  The  fear,  the  anxiety,  too,  which  had 
flashed  over  the  face  of  Lindela  at  his  significant 
words,  proved  that  the  ordeal  through  which  it  was 
designed  to  pass  him  was  a  real  and  a  terrible  one. 

264 


LINDELA. 

Through  her,  and  her  only,  lay  his  chance  of  escap- 
ing it. 

"  I  am  glad  the  king  is  pleased,"  he  went  on,  "  for 
I  would  fain  tarry  among  the  Ba-gcatya  forever. 
And,  becoming  one  of  that  people,  shall  not  all  my 
efforts  turn  towards  rendering  it  a  great  people?  " 

A  hum  of  astonishment  escaped  the  two  indunas, 
and  Laurence  thought  to  detect  the  same  significant 
look  on  both  their  faces.  Then  he  added: 

"  And  those  whom  I  have  already  taught  in  the 
use  of  the  fire-weapon,  they  are  strong  in  it,  and 
reliable?" 

"  That  is  so,"  assented  Tyisandhlu. 

"  And  I  have  taught  many  the  ways  of  the  chase, 
no  less  than  the  more  skilled  ways  of  war — that  too 
is  true,  O  Burning  Wind?" 

"  That  too  is  true,"  repeated  the  king. 

"  Good.  And  now  I  would  crave  a  boon.  While 
the  People  of  the  Spider  have  become  more  formid- 
able in  war,  while  the  ivory  comes  pouring  into  the 
king's  treasury,  faster  than  ever  it  did  before,  so  that 
soon  there  will  be  enough  to  buy  fire-weapons  for  the 
whole  nation,  I  who  brought  all  this  to  pass  remain 
poor — am  the  poorest  in  the  nation — and — the 
daughters  of  the  Ba-gcatya  are  fair — exceeding  fair." 

"  Whan! "  exclaimed  the  two  indunas  simulta- 
neously, with  their  hands  to  their  mouths.  But 
Tysandhlu  said  nothing,  though  a  very  humorous 
gleam  seemed  to  steal  over  his  fine  features  in  the 
firelight. 

"The  daughters  of  the  Ba-gcatya  are  exceeding 
265 


THE   SIGN    OF   THE    SPIDER. 

fair,"  repeated  Laurence,  "  but  I,  the  poorest  man  in 
the  nation,  cannot  take  wives.  For  how  shall  I  go  to 
the  father  of  a  girl  and  say,  '  Lo,  I  desire  thy  daugh- 
ter to  wife,  but  my  slaves  have  been  killed,  and  my 
other  possessions  are  now  the  property  of  the  king; 
yet  inasmuch  as  I  cannot  offer  lobola,  having  nothing, 
give  her  to  me  on  the  same  terms?'  My  house  will 
not  grow  great  in  that  way.  Say  now,  Ndabezita, 
will  it?  " 

"  I  think  not,  Nyonyoba,"  answered  the  king, 
struggling  to  repress  a  laugh.  "  Yet  perhaps  a  way 
may  be  found  out  of  that  difficulty,  for  in  truth  thou 
hast  done  us  good  service  already.  But  we  will  talk 
further  as  to  this  matter  in  the  future.  For  the 
present,  here  waits  outside  one  who  will  show  thee 
what  thou  wilt  be  glad  to  see." 

Quick  to  take  this  hint  of  dismissal,  Laurence  now 
arose,  saluted  the  king,  and  retired,  not  ill-pleased 
so  far  with  the  results  of  his  interview.  For  in  the 
circumlocutory  native  way  of  dealing  with  matters  of 
importance,  Tyisandhlu  had  received  with  favour  his 
request,  preferred  after  the  same  method,  that  some 
of  his  possessions  should  be  restored  to  him.  Then 
he  would  offer  lobola  for  Lindela,  and 

"  I  accompany  you  farther,  Nyonyoba,  at  the  word 
of  the  Great  Great  One,  by  whose  light  we  live." 

The  voice  of  the  inceku  who  had  ushered  him  forth 
broke  in  upon  his  meditations.  This  man,  instead  of 
leaving  him  at  the  gate  of  the  isigodhlo,  still  kept  at 
his  side,  and  Laurence,  manifesting  no  curiosity,  hav- 
ing picked  up  his  weapons  where  he  had  left  them, 
accompanied  his  guide  in  silence. 

266 


LINDELA. 

They  passed  out  of  Imvungayo,  and  after  walking 
nearly  a  mile  came  to  a  large  kraal,  which  Laurence 
recognized  as  that  of  Nondwana,  the  king's  brother. 
And  now,  for  the  first  time,  he  felt  a  thrill  of  interest 
surge  through  him.  Nondwana's  kraal!  Had  Tyis- 
andhlu,  divining  his  wishes,  indeed  forestalled  them? 
But  this  idea  was  as  quickly  dismissed  as  formulated. 
The  king  had  probably  ordered  that  one  or  two  of  the 
Ba-gcatya  girls  should  be  allotted  to  him — possibly 
chosen  from  those  in  attendance  upon  the  royal  wives. 
His  parting  remark  seemed  to  point  that  way. 

"  Enter,"  said  the  inceku,  halting  before  one  of  the 
huts.  "  Enter,  and  good  go  with  thee.  I  return  to 
the  king.  Fare  thee  well !  " 

Laurence  bent  down  and  pushed  back  the  wicker 
slab  that  formed  the  door  of  the  hut,  and,  having 
crawled  through  the  low,  beehive-like  entrance,  stood 
upright  within,  and  instinctively  kicked  the  fire  into 
a  blaze.  And  then,  indeed,  was  amazement — wild, 
incredulous,  bewildering  amazement — his  dominant 
feeling,  for  by  the  light  thus  obtained  he  saw  that 
the  hut  was  tenanted  by  two  persons.  No  feminine 
voice,  however,  was  raised  to  bid  him  welcome  in  the 
soft  tongue  of  the  Ba-gcatya,  but  a  loud,  full- 
flavoured,  masculine  English  one: 

"  Stanninghame — by  the  great  Lord  Harry!  Oh, 
kind  Heavens,  am  I  drunk  or  dreaming?  " 


267 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

AS   FROM   THE   DEAD. 

"  THERE,  there,  Holmes.  Do  you  quite  intend  to 
maim  a  chap  for  life,  or  what?  "  exclaimed  Laurence, 
liberating,  with  an  effort,  his  hand  from  the  other's 
wringing  grasp.  "  And  Hazon,  too?  In  truth,  life 
is  full  of  surprises.  How  are  you,  Hazon?  " 

"  So  so,"  was  the  reply,  as  Hazon,  who  had  been 
biding  the  evaporation  of  his  younger  friend's  effusive- 
ness, now  came  forward.  But  his  handshake  was 
characteristic  of  the  man,  for  it  was  as  though  they 
had  parted  only  last  week,  and  that  but  temporarily. 

"And  is  it  really  you  yourself,  old  chap?"  rattled 
on  Holmes.  "  It's  for  all  the  world  as  if  you  had 
risen  from  the  dead.  Why,  we  never  expected  to 
set  eyes  on  you  again  in  life — did  we,  Hazon?  " 

"  Not  much,"  assented  that  worthy  laconically. 

"  Well,  I  can  say  the  same  as  regards  yourselves," 
rejoined  Laurence.  "  What  in  the  world  made  them 
give  you  quarter?  " 

"  Don't  know,"  answered  Hazon.  "  We  managed 
to  get  together,  back  to  back,  we  two,  and  were  fight- 
ing like  cats.  Holmes  got  a  shot  on  the  head  with 
a  club  that  sent  him  down,  and  I  got  stuck  full  of 
assegais  till  I  couldn't  see.  The  next  thing  I  knew 
was  that  we  were  being  carted  along  in  the  middle  of 
a  big  impi — Heaven  knew  where.  One  thing,  we  were 

268 


AS   FROM   THE   DEAD. 

both  alive — alive  and  kicking,  too.  As  soon  as  we 
were  able  to  walk  they  assegaied  our  bearers,  and — 
made  us  walk." 

"  Don't  you  swallow  all  that,  Stanninghame,"  cut 
in  Holmes.  "  He  fought,  standing  over  me — fought 
like  any  devil,  the  Ba-gcatya  say,  although  he  makes 
out  now  it  was  all  playful  fun." 

"  Well,  for  the  matter  of  that,  we  had  to  fight,"  re- 
joined Hazon  tranquilly.  "  Where  have  you  been  all 
this  time,  Stanninghame?" 

"  Here,  at  Imvungayo.     And  you  two?  " 

"  Shot  if  I  know.  They  kept  us  at  some  place  away 
in  the  mountains.  Only  brought  us  here  a  few  days 
back." 

"  They  won't  let  us  out  in  the  daytime,"  chimed  in 
Holmes.  "  And  it's  getting  deadly  monotonous. 
But  tell  us,  old  chap,  how  it  is  they  didn't  stick 
you?" 

This,  however,  Laurence,  following  out  a  vein  of 
vague  instinct,  had  decided  not  to  do,  wherefore  he 
invented  some  commonplace  solution.  And  it  was 
with  strange  and  mingled  feelings  he  sat  there  listen- 
ing to  his  old  confederates.  For  months  he  had  not 
heard  one  word  of  the  English  tongue,  and  now  these 
two,  risen,  as  it  were,  from  the  very  grave,  seemed 
to  bring  back  all  the  past,  which,  under  novel  and 
strange  conditions,  had  more  and  more  been  fading 
into  the  background.  He  was  even  constrained  to 
admit  to  himself  that  such  feelings  were  not  those  of 
unmingled  joy.  He  had  almost  lost  all  inclination  to 
escape  from  among  this  people,  and  now  these  two,  by 
the  very  associations  which  their  presence  recalled, 

26f 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

were  likely  to  unsettle  him  again,  possibly  to  his  own 
peril  and  undoing.  Anyway,  he  resolved  to  say  noth- 
ing as  to  the  incident  of  "  The  Sign  of  the  Spider." 

"  Well,  you  seem  to  have  got  round  them  better 
than  we  did,  Stanninghame,"  said  Hazon,  with  a 
glance  at  the  Express  rifle  and  revolver  wherewith 
the  other  was  armed.  "  We  have  hardly  been  allowed 
so  much  as  a  stick." 

"  So?  Well,  I've  been  teaching  some  of  them  to 
shoot.  That  may  have  had  a  little  to  do  with  it.  In 
fact,  I've  been  laying  myself  out  to  make  thoroughly 
the  best  of  the  situation." 

"  That's  sound  sense  everywhere,"  rejoined  Hazon. 
<7  You  can't  get  Holmes  here  to  see  it,  though.  He's 
wearing  out  his  soul-case  wanting  to  break  away." 

This  was  no  more  than  the  truth.  Laurence,  seated 
there,  narrowly  watching  his  old  comrades,  was 
swift  to  notice  that  whereas  these  months  of  captivity 
and  suspense  had  left  Hazon  the  same  cool,  saturnine, 
philosophical  being  he  had  first  known  him,  upon 
Holmes  they  had  had  quite  a  different  effect.  There 
was  a  restless,  eager  nervousness  about  the  younger 
man;  a  sort  of  straining  to  break  away  even,  as  the 
more  seasoned  adventurer  had  described  it.  The  fact 
was,  he  was  getting  desperately  home-sick. 

"  I  wish  I  had  never  had  anything  to  do  with  this 
infernal  business,"  he  now  bursts  forth  petulantly. 
"  I  swear  I'd  give  all  we  have  made  to  be  back  safe 
and  snug  in  Johannesburg,  with  white  faces  around 
us, — even  though  I  were  stony  broke." 

"  Especially  one  '  white  face,'  "  bantered  Laurence. 
"  Well,  keep  up  your  form,  Holmes.  You  may  be 

270 


AS   FROM   THE   DEAD. 

back  there  yet,  safe  and  sound,  and  not  stony  broke 
either." 

"  No,  no.  There  is  a  curse  upon  us,  as  I  said  all 
along.  No  good  will  come  to  us  through  such  gains. 
We  shall  never  return — never." 

And  then  Laurence  looked  across  at  Hazon,  and 
the  glance,  done  into  words,  read :  "  What  the  mis- 
chief is  to  be  made  of  such  a  prize  fool  as  this?  " 

The  night  was  spent  in  talking  over  past  experi- 
ences, and  making  plans  for  the  future,  as  to  which 
latter  Hazon  failed  not  to  note,  with  faint  amusement, 
blended  with  complacency,  that  the  disciple  had,  if 
anything,  surpassed  his  teacher.  In  other  words, 
Laurence  entered  into  such  plans  with  a  luke-warm- 
ness  which  would  have  been  astonishing  to  the  super- 
ficial judgment,  but  was  not  so  to  that  of  his  listener. 

Nondwana,  the  brother  of  the  king,  was  seated 
among  a  group  of  his  followers  in  the  gate  as  Lau- 
rence went  forth  the  next  morning  to  return  to  his  own 
quarters.  This  chief,  though  older  than  Tyisandhlu 
in  years,  was  not  the  son  of  the  principal  wife  of  their 
common  father,  wherefore  Tyisandhlu,  who  was,  had, 
in  accordance  with  native  custom,  succeeded.  There 
had  been  whisperings  that  Nondwana  had  attempted 
to  oppose  the  accession,  and  very  nearly  with  success ; 
but  whether  from  motives  of  policy  or  generosity, 
Tyisandhlu  had  foreborne  to  take  his  life.  The  for- 
mer motive  may  have  counted,  for  Nondwana  exer- 
cised a  powerful  influence  in  the  nation.  In  aspect, 
he  was  a  tall,  fine,  handsome  man,  with  all  the  dignity 
of  manner  which  characterized  his  royal  brother,  yet 

271 


THE  SIGN  OF  THE  SPIDER. 

there  was  a  sinister  expression  ever  lurking  in  his  face 
— a  cruel  droop  in  the  corner  of  the  mouth. 

"  Greeting,  Nyonyoba.  And  is  it  good  once  mora 
to  behold  a  white  face?  "  said  the  chief,  a  veiled  irony 
lurking  beneath  the  outward  geniality  of  his  tone. 

"  To  behold  the  face  of  a  friend  once  more  is  always 
good,  Branch  of  a  Royal  Tree,"  returned  Laurence, 
sitting  down  among  the  group  to  take  snuff. 

"  Even  when  it  is  that  of  one  risen  from  the  dead?  " 

"  But  here  it  was  not  so,  Ndabezita.  My  *  Spider ' 
told  me  that  these  were  all  the  time  alive,"  rejoined 
Laurence,  with  mendacity  on  a  truly  generous  scale. 

"  Ha!  thy  Spider?  Yet  thou  art  not  of  the  People 
of  the  Spider." 

"  But  I  bear  the  sign,"  touching  his  breast.  "  There 
are  many  things  made  clear  to  me,  which  may  or 
may  not  be  set  forward  in  the  light  of  all  at  the 
fall  of  the  second  moon.  Farewell  now,  Son  of  the 
Great." 

The  start  of  astonishment,  the  murmur  which  ran 
round  the  group,  was  not  lost  upon  him.  It  was  all 
confirmatory  of  what  he  had  heard.  And  then,  as  he 
walked  back  to  his  tent  in  Silawayo's  kraal,  it 
occurred  to  Laurence  that  he  had  probably  made  a 
false  move.  Nondwrana,  who,  of  course,  was  not 
ignorant  of  his  daughter's  partiality,  would  almost 
certainly  decide  that  Lindela  had  betrayed  the  secret 
and  sinister  intent  to  its  unconscious  object;  and  in 
that  event,  how  would  it  fare  with  her?  He  felt  more 
than  anxious.  The  king  might  take  long  in  deciding 
whether  to  restore  his  property  or  not,  and  etiquette 
forbade  him  to  refer  to  the  matter  again — at  any  rate 

272 


AS   FROM   THE   DEAD. 

for  some  time  to  come.  That  Nondwana  might  de- 
mand too  much  lobola,  or  possibly  refuse  it  altogether 
as  coming  from  him,  was  a  contingency  which, 
strange  to  say,  completely  escaped  Laurence's  schem- 
ing mind. 

"  Greeting,  Nyonyoba.  Thy  thoughts  are  deep — 
ever  deep." 

The  voice,  soft,  rich,  bantering,  almost  made  him 
start  as  he  raised  his  eyes,  to  meet  the  glad  laughing 
ones  of  the  object  of  his  thoughts  at  that  moment, 
the  chief's  daughter. 

"  What  do  you  here,  wandering  alone,  Lindela?  " 
he  said. 

"  Ha — ha!  Now  you  did  well  to  say  my  name  like 
that — for — does  it  not  answer  your  question,  '  to  wait, 
to  watch  for '  ?  And  what  is  meant  for  two  ears  is 
not  meant  for  four  or  six.  I  have  news,  but  it  is  not 
good." 

They  were  standing  in  the  dip  of  the  path,  where  a 
little  runlet  coursed  along  between  high  bush-fringed 
banks,  and  the  tall,  graceful  form  of  the  girl  stood 
out  in  splendid  relief  from  its  background  of  foliage. 
Not  only  for  love  had  she  awaited  him  hete,  for  her 
eyes  were  sad  and  troubled  as  she  narrated  her  dis- 
coveries, which  amounted  to  this:  It  was  next  to  im- 
possible for  Laurence  to  escape  the  ordeal — whatever 
it  might  be.  All  of  weight  and  position  in  the  nation 
were  resolved  upon  it,  and  none  more  thoroughly  so 
than  Nondwana.  The  king  himself  would  be  power- 
less to  save  him,  even  if  he  wished,  and,  indeed,  why 
should  he  run  counter  to  the  desire  of  a  whole  nation, 

273 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE  SPIDER. 

and  that  on   behalf  of  a   stranger,   some   time   an 
enemy? 

Laurence,  listening,  felt  his  anxiety  deepen.  The 
net  was  closing  in  around  him,  had  indeed  already 
closed,  and  from  it  there  was  no  outlet. 

"  See  now,  Lindela,"  he  said  gravely,  his  eyes  full 
upon  the  troubled  face  of  the  girl,  "  if  this  thing  has 
got  to  be,  there  is  no  help  for  it.  And,  however  it 
turns  out,  the  world  will  go  on  just  the  same — and  the 
sun  rise  and  set  as  before.  Why  grieve  about  it?  " 

"  Because  I  love  you — love  you — do  you  hear?  I 
know  not  how  it  is.  We  girls  of  the  Ba-gcatya  do  not 
love — not  like  this.  We  like  to  be  married  to  men 
who  are  great  in  the  nation — powerful  indunas — if  not 
too  old, — or  those  who  have  much  cattle,  or  who  will 
name  us  for  their  principal  wife;  but  we  know  not 
how  to  love.  Yet  you  have  taught  me,  Nyonyoba. 
Say  now,  is  it  through  the  magic  of  the  white  people 
you  have  done  it?  " 

"  It  may  be  so,"  replied  Laurence,  smiling  queerly 
to  himself,  as  he  thought  how  exactly,  if  uncon- 
sciously, this  alluring  child  of  nature  had  described 
her  civilized  sisters.  Then  his  face  became  alert  and 
watchful.  He  was  listening  intently. 

"  I,  too,  heard  something,"  murmured  Lindela, 
scarcely  moving  her  lips.  "  I  fear  lest  we  have  been 
overlooked.  Now,  fare  thee  well,  for  I  must  return. 
But  my  ears  are  ever  open  to  what  men  say,  and  my 
father  talks  much,  and  talks  loud.  It  may  be  that  I 
may  learn  yet  more.  But,  Nyonyoba,  delay  not  in 
thy  first  purpose,  lest  it  be  too  late;  and  remember, 
Nondwana  has  a  covetous  hand.  Fare  thee  well." 

274 


AS   FROM   THE   DEAD. 

Left  alone,  Laurence  thought  he  might  just  as  well 
make  sure  that  no  spy  had  been  watching  them.  Yet 
though  he  examined  the  banks  of  the  stream  for 
some  little  distance  around,  he  could  find  no  trace  of 
any  human  presence,  no  mark  even,  however  faint,  of 
human  foot.  Still,  as  he  gained  his  own  quarters  in 
Silawayo's  kraal,  a  presentiment  lay  heavy  upon  him 
— a  weird,  boding  presentiment  of  evil  to  come — of 
evil  far  nearer  at  hand  than  he  had  hitherto  deemed. 

Long  and  hard  he  slept,  for  he  was  weary  with 
wakefulness  and  anxiety.  And  when  he  awoke  at 
dusk,  intending  to  seek  an  interview  with  the  king, 
he  beheld  that  which  in  no  wise  tended  to  allay  his 
fears.  For  as  he  drew  nearer  to  Imvungayo  there 
issued  from  its  gate  a  crowd  of  figures — of  black,  gro- 
tesque, horrible  figures,  and  in  the  midst  a  man,  whom 
they  were  dragging  along  in  grim  silence,  even  as  they 
had  hauled  Lutali  to  his  unknown  doom,  and  as  they 
disappeared  into  the  gathering  darkness,  Laurence 
knew  only  too  well  that  here  was  another  victim — 
another  hideous  sacrifice  to  the  grisly  and  mysterious 
demon-god.  No  wonder  his  blood  grew  chill  within 
him.  Would  he  be  the  next? 

"  And  you  would  still  become  one  of  us,  Nyon- 
yoba?" 

"  I  would,  Great  Great  One ;  and  to  this  end  have 
I  sent  much  ivory,  and  many  things  the  white  people 
prize,  including  three  new  guns  and  much  ammuni- 
tion, to  Nondwana." 

"Ha!  Nondwana's  hand  is  large,  and  opens  wide," 
said  the  king,  with  a  hearty  chuckle.  "  Yet  Lindela 

275 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

is  a  sprig  of  a  mighty  tree.  And  I  think,  Nyonyoba, 
you  yourself  are  sprung  from  such  a  root." 

"  That  is  no  lie,  Ruler  of  the  Wise.  As  a  man's 
whole  height  is  to  the  length  of  half  his  leg,  so  is  the 
length  of  my  house  to  that  of  the  kings  of  the 
Ba-gcatya,  or  even  to  that  of  Senzangakona  *  himself." 

"  Ha!  That  may  well  be.  Thou  hast  a  look  that 
way." 

This  conversation  befell  two  days  after  the  events 
just  described.  The  king  had  refused  him  an  audi- 
ence on  that  evening,  and  indeed  since  until  now. 
But  in  the  meantime,  by  royal  orders,  a  great  portion 
of  the  plunder  taken  from  the  slave-hunters'  camp 
had  been  restored  to  him,  considerably  more,  indeed, 
than  he  had  expected.  And  now  he  and  Tyisandhlu 
were  seated  once  more  together  in  the  royal  dwelling, 
this  time  alone. 

"  But  to  be  sprung  from  an  ancient  tree  avails  a 
man  nothing  in  my  country  if  he  is  poor,"  went  on 
Laurence.  "  Rather  is  it  a  disadvantage,  and  he  had 
better  have  been  born  among  the  meaner  sort.  That 
is  why  I  have  found  my  way  hither,  Ndabezita." 

"That  is  why?  And  you  have  gained  the  desired 
riches?  "  said  the  king,  eyeing  him  narrowly. 

"  I  had — nearly,  when  the  Ba-gcatya  fell  upon  my 
camp,  and  killed  my  people  and  my  slaves.  Now, 
having  lost  all,  I  care  not  to  return  to  my  own  land." 

"  But  could  you  return  rich  you  would  care  so  to 
return?" 

"That  is  so,  Root  of  a  Royal  Tree.     With  large 

*  Founder  of  the  Zulu  dynasty,  and  of  course  patriarchally  greater 
than  the  royal  house  of  this  Zulu-originated  tribe. 

276 


AS  FROM   THE   DEAD. 

possessions  it  is  indeed  a  pleasant  land  to  dwell  in 
— with  no  possessions  a  man  might  often  think  long- 
ingly of  the  restful  sleep  of  death." 

"  That  may  well  be,"  said  Tyisandhlu  thoughtfully. 
"  The  cold  and  the  gloom  and  the  blackness,  the  fogs 
and  the  smoke — the  mean  and  horrible-looking  people 
who  go  to  make  up  the  larger  portion  of  its  inhabi- 
tants. Whan,  Nyonyoba,  I  know  more  of  your  white 
people  and  their  country  than  anyone  here  dreams, 
and  it  is  as  you  say.  Without  that  which  should 
raise  him  .above  such  horrors  as  this,  a  man  might  as 
well  be  dead." 

"  Wherefore  I  prefer  to  live  in  the  land  of  the  Ba- 
gcatya  rather  than  die  in  my  own.  But  whoever 
brought  hither  that  description  of  our  land  told  a 
wonderfully  true  tale,  Ruler  of  the  Great." 

Tyisandhlu  made  no  reply,  but  reaching  out  his 
hand  he  took  up  a  whistle  and  blew  a  double  note 
upon  it.  Immediately  there  entered  an  inceku. 

"  Let  no  man  approach  until  this  note  shall  again 
sound,"  said  the  king.  "  Preserve  clear  a  wide  space 
around,  lest  the  ear  that  opens  too  wide  be  removed 
from  its  owner's  head.  Go." 

The  man  saluted  humbly  and  withdrew.  And  then 
for  long  did  they  sit  together  and  talk  in  a  low  tone, 
the  barbarian  monarch  and  the  white  adventurer — and 
the  subject  of  their  talk  seemed  fraught  with  some 
surprise  to  the  latter,  but  with  satisfaction  to  both. 

"  See  now,  Nyonyoba,"  concluded  the  king. 
"  They  have  brought  you  here,  here  whence  no  man 
ever  returned;  and  you  would  become  one  of  us* 
Well,  be  it  so.  There  is  that  about  you  I  trust." 

277 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE  SPIDER. 

"  Whence  no  man  ever  returned? "  echoed  Lau- 
rence. 

"  Surely.  Ha!  A  white  man  found  his  way  hither 
once,  but — he  was  a  preacher — and  I  love  not  such. 
He  never  returned."  • 

"  But  what  of  my  two  friends?  You  will  not  harm 
them,  Ndabezita,  because  they  are  my  friends,  and 
we  have  fought  together  many  a  long  year,"  urged 
Laurence. 

"  I  will  spare  them  for  that  reason.  They  shall  be 
led  from  the  country  with  their  eyes  covered,  lest  they 
find  the  way  back  again.  But — if  they  do — they 
likewise  shall  never  depart  from  it.  And  now,  Nyon- 
yoba,  all  I  have  told  you  is  between  ourselves  alone. 
Breathe  not  a  whisper  of  it  or  anything  about  me  even 
to  your  friends.  For  the  present,  farewell,  and  good 
fortune  be  yours." 


278 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

HIS   LIFE   FOR  HIS   FRIEND. 

Now,  if  Laurence  Stanninghame's  prospects  were 
brightening,  and  his  lines  beginning  to  fall  in  pleasant 
places, — relatively  speaking,  that  is,  for  everything  is 
relative  in  the  conditions  of  life, — the  same  held  not 
good  as  regards  the  other  twain  of  our  trio  of  adven- 
turers. Both  were  kept  prisoners  in  Nondwana's 
kraal,  and,  save  that  they  were  not  ill-treated,  no  es- 
pecial consideration  was  shown  them.  They  were 
allowed  to  wander  about  the  open  space  outside,  but 
watchful  eyes  were  ever  upon  them,  and  did  they  ven- 
ture beyond  certain  limits,  they  were  speedily  made 
aware  of  the  fact.  No  such  distractions  as  joining  in 
the  hunting  parties,  or  coming  and  going  at  will  such 
as  their  more  fortunate  comrade  enjoyed,  were  allowed 
them,  and  against  the  deadly  monotony  of  the  life — in 
conjunction  with  a  boding  suspense  as  to  their  ultimate 
fate — did  Holmes*  restless  spirit  mightily  chafe;  in- 
deed, at  times  he  felt  sore  and  resentful  towards  Lau- 
rence. At  such  times  Hazon's  judicious  counsel 
would  step  in. 

"  Shall  we  never  make  a  philosopher  of  you, 
Holmes? "  he  would  say.  "  Do  you  think,  for  in- 
stance, that  Stanninghame,  faring  no  better  than  our- 
selves, would  improve  our  own  lot  any?  No;  rely 
upon  it,  his  standing  in  with  the  king  and  the  rest  of 
them  is  doing  us  no  harm  in  the  long  run." 

279 


THE  SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

"I  suppose  you're  right,  Hazon;  and  it's  beastly 
selfish  of  one  to  look  upon  it  any  other  way,"  poor 
Holmes  would  reply  wearily.  "  But,  O  Lord,  this  is 
deadly  work.  Is  there  no  way  of  getting  away  from 
here?" 

"  Not  any  at  present.  Yet  you  don't  suppose  I'm 
keeping  my  eyes  or  ears  shut,  do  you?  We  must 
watch  our  chances,  and  see  and  hear  all  we  can.  I 
believe  Tyisandhlu  is  a  decent  fellow  all  round,  and 
mind,  you  do  come  across  plenty  of  pretty  good  fel- 
lows even  among  savages,  whatever  bosh  some  men 
may  talk  to  the  contrary.  But  I  don't  care  for  Nond- 
wana.  I  believe  he'd  make  short  work  of  us  if  he 
dared.  Possibly  the  king  may  be  watching  his 
opportunity  of  smuggling  us  out  of  the  country.  At 
any  rate,  I  don't  think  he  means  us  any  harm,  if  only 
by  reason  of  the  astonishing  fancy  he  seems  to  have 
taken  to  Stanninghame !  " 

This,  as  we  know,  was  very  near  the  truth,  though 
far  more  so  than  the  speakers  guessed.  For  Lau- 
rence, moved  both  by  inclination  and  expediency,  had 
rigidly  adhered  to  his  promise  of  secrecy.  If  it 
seemed  hard  that  he  should  be  compelled  to  shut  his 
companions  out  of  his  entire  confidence,  he  consoled 
himself  with  the  certainty  that  their  admission  into 
it,  though  it  might  encourage  them  mentally,  could 
in  no  wise  benefit  them  materially — very  much  the 
reverse,  indeed,  for  it  would  probably  bring  about 
their  destruction. 

"  Well,  if  anything  is  going  to  be  done,  it  had 
better  be  soon  or  not  at  all.  It  wouldn't  take  much 
to  send  me  clean  off  my  chump,"  said  Holmes  de- 

280 


HIS  LIFE   FOR   HIS  FRIEND. 

jectedly.  "  Every  day  I  feel  more  inclined  to  break 
out — to  run  amuck  in  a  crowd,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  a 
little  excitement.  Anything  for  a  little  excitement!  " 

The  two  were  strolling  up  and  down  outside  Nond- 
wana's  kraal.  It  was  a  still,  hot  morning;  oppressive 
as  though  a  storm  were  brooding.  A  filmy  haze  lay 
upon  the  lower  valley  bottom,  and  the  ground  gave 
forth  a  shimmer  of  heat.  Even  the  amphitheatre  of 
dazzling  snow-peaks  omitted  to  look  cool  against  the 
cloudless  blue,  while  the  coppery-terraced  cliffs  seemed 
actually  to  glow  as  though  red  hot. 

"  I  hate  this,"  growled  Holmes,  looking  around 
upon  as  magnificent  a  scene  of  nature's  grandeur  as 
the  earth  could  show,  "  positively  hate  it.  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  stand  the  sight  of  a  mountain  again 
as  long  as  I  live — once  we  are  out  of  this.  Oh, 
Heavens,  look!  What  a  brute!  " 

His  accents  of  shuddering  disgust  were  explained. 
Something  was  moving  among  the  stones  in  front — 
something  with  great,  hairy,  shoggling  legs,  and  a 
body  the  size  of  a  thrush  and  much  the  same  colour. 
A  spider,  could  it  be,  of  such  enormous  size?  Yet 
it  was;  and  as  truly  repulsive  and  horrible-looking  a 
monster  as  ever  made  human  flesh  creep  at  beholding. 

Whack!  The  stone  flung  by  Holmes  struck  the 
ground  beside  the  creature;  struck  it  hard. 

"  Hold,  you  infernal  fool,"  half  snarled,  half  yelled 
Hazon.  But  before  he  could  arrest  the  other's  arm, 
whack! — went  a  second  stone.  The  aim  was  true,  the 
grisly  beast,  crushed  and  maimed,  lay  contracting  and 
unfolding  its  horrible  legs  in  the  muscular  writhings 
of  its  death  throes. 

281 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

"  What's  the  row,  eh?"  grumbled  Holmes,  staring 
open-mouthed,  under  the  impression  that  his  comrade 
had  gone  mad,  and  at  first  sight  not  without  reason, 
for  Hazon's  face  had  gone  a  swarthy  white,  and  his 
eyes  seemed  to  glare  forth  from  it  like  blazing  coals. 

"  Row?  You  fool,  you've  signed  our  death-war- 
rant, that's  all.  Here,  quick,  pretend  to  be  throwing 
stones  on  to  it,  as  if  we  were  playing  at  some  game. 
Don't  you  see?  The  name  of  this  tribe — People  of  the 
Spider!  They  venerate  the  beast.  If  we  have  been 
seen,  nothing  can  save  us." 

"  Oh,  Heavens!  "  cried  Holmes,  aghast  as  the  whole 
ugly  truth  dawned  upon  him,  setting  to  with  a  will 
to  pile  stones  upon  the  remains  of  the  slain  and 
shattered  monster. 

"  Too  late !  "  growled  Hazon.  "  We  have  been 
seen!  Look." 

Several  women  were  running  stealthily  and  in  alarm 
towards  the  gate,  and  immediately  a  frightful  uproar 
arose  from  within.  Armed  with  sticks  and  spears, 
the  warriors  came  pouring  forth,  and  in  a  moment 
had  surrounded  the  two — a  howling,  infuriated, 
threatening  mob. 

Although  expecting  nothing  less  than  instant  death, 
with  the  emergency  Hazon's  coolness  had  returned. 
He  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  appalling  uproar, 
apparently  unmoved.  Holmes,  on  the  other  hand, 
looked  wildly  around,  but  less  in  fear  than  in  despera- 
tion. He  was  calculating  his  chances  of  being  able  to 
snatch  a  weapon  from  one  of  them,  and  to  lay 
about  him  in  the  last  fierce  battle  for  life.  "  Anything 
for  a  little  excitement!"  he  had  said.  In  very  truth 

282 


HIS   LIFE   FOR   HIS  FRIEND. 

his  aspiration  was  realized.  There  was  excitement 
enough  in  the  brandished  spears  and  blazing  eyeballs, 
in  the  infuriated  demoniacal  faces,  in  the  deafening, 
roaring  clamour. 

"  This  is  no  matter  for  you,"  cried  Hazon  in  firm, 
ringing  tones.  "  Take  us  to  the  king.  We  can  ex- 
plain. The  affair  was  an  accident." 

At  this  the  ferocious  tumult  redoubled.  An  acci- 
dent! They  had  lifted  their  hand  against  the  great 
tutelary  Spider  that  guarded  Nondwana's  house!  An 
accident! 

"Hold!  To  the  king  let  them  be  taken!"  inter- 
posed a  strong,  deep  voice.  And  extending  his  hands, 
as  though  to  arrest  the  uplifted  weapons,  Nondwana 
himself  stalked  into  the  circle. 

There  was  no  gainsaying  the  mandate  of  one  so 
great.  Weapons  were  lowered,  but  still  vociferating 
horrible  threats,  the  crowd,  with  the  two  offenders  in 
its  midst,  moved  in  the  direction  of  Imvungayo. 

But  it  seemed  as  though  the  wild,  pealing  shouts 
of  rage  and  consternation  were  a  very  tocsin ;  for  now 
from  every  kraal,  near  and  far,  the  inhabitants  came 
surging  forth,  streaming  down  the  hillsides  over  the 
face  of  the  plain  like  swarming  ants — and  before  they 
reached  Imvungayo  the  two  whites  seemed  to  move 
in  the  midst  of  a  huge  sea  of  gibing,  infuriated  faces, 
as  the  dark  crowd,  gathering  volume,  poured  onward, 
rending  the  air  with  deafening  shouts  of  execration 
and  menace.  But  the  royal  guards  barred  the  gate, 
suffering  no  entrance  save  on  the  part  of  the  two 
white  men,  together  with  Nondwana  and  a  few  of  the 
greater  among  the  people. 

283 


THE  SIGN   OF  THE  SPIDER. 

"  This  is  the  tightest  place  we  have  been  in  yet," 
murmured  Hazon.  "  To  tread  on  the  superstitions 
of  any  race  is  to  thrust  one's  head  into  the  jaws  of  a 
starved  lion." 

"D their  filthy  superstition,"  said  Holmes, 

savagely  desperate.  "  Well,  I  did  the  thing,  so  I  sup- 
pose I  shall  be  the  one  to  suffer." 

The  other  said  nothing.  He  had  a  shrewd  sus- 
picion that  more  than  one  life  would  be  required  in 
atonement.  But  he  and  death  had  stared  each  other 
in  the  face  so  frequently  that  once  more  or  less  did 
not  greatly  matter. 

On  learning  the  cause  of  the  tumult,  Tyisandhlu 
had  come  forth,  and  now  sat,  as  he  frequently  did,  to 
administer  justice  at  the  head  of  the  great  central 
space.  When  the  shouts  of  "  bonga! "  which  greeted 
his  presence  had  subsided,  he  ordered  that  the  two 
whites  should  be  brought  forward. 

This  was  the  first  time  the  latter  had  seen  the  king, 
and  now,  as  they  beheld  his  stately,  commanding  bear- 
ing, calm  and  judicial,  both  of  them,  Holmes 
especially,  began  to  hope.  They  would  explain  the 
matter,  and  offer  ample  apologies.  The  owner  of 
that  fine,  intellectual  countenance,  savage  though  he 
might  be  called,  he,  surely,  had  a  soul  above  the  de- 
based superstitions  of  his  subjects.  Hitherto  he  had 
spared  their  lives — surely  now  he  would  not  sacrifice 
them  to  the  clamour  of  a  mob.  Yet,  as  Hazon  had 
said,  to  tread  on  the  superstitions  of  any  race  was  the 
most  fatal  thing  on  earth. 

"What  is  this  that  has  been  done?"  spoke  the 
king,  when  he  had  heard  all  that  the  accusers  had  to 

284 


HIS   LIFE    FOR    HIS   FRIEND. 

say.  "  Surely  no  such  deed  has  been  wrought  among 
us  since  the  Ba-gcatya  have  been  a  nation." 

There  was  a  sternness,  a  menace  even,  in  the  full, 
deep  voice,  that  dispelled  all  hope  in  the  minds  of  the 
two  thus  under  judgment.  They  had  committed  the 
one  unpardonable  sin.  In  vain  Hazon  elaborately  ex- 
plained the  whole  affair,  diplomatically  setting  forth 
that  the  act  being  accidental,  and  done  by  strangers 
and  white  people,  in  ignorance,  no  ill-luck  need  be- 
fall the  nation,  as  might  be  the  case  were  the  symbol 
of  its  veneration  offended  by  its  own  people.  The 
voice  of  the  king  was  more  stern  than  before — almost 
jeering. 

"  Accidental !  "  he  repeated.  "  Even  though  it  be 
so,  accidents  often  bring  greater  evil  in  their  results 
than  the  most  deliberate  wrong-doing — for  such  is  the 
rule  of  life." 

"That  is  so!"  buzzed  the  indunas  grouped  on 
either  side  of  the  king.  "  Au!  hear  the  wisdom  of 
the  Burning  North  Wind!  " 

"  Well,  then,  in  this  matter  atonement  must  be 
made.  It  appears  that  one  only  was  concerned  in  it, 
and  that  one  is  Nomtyeketye." 

This  was  the  somewhat  uncomplimentary  nickname 
by  which  Holmes  was  known,  bestowed  upon  him  on 
account  of  his  talkative  tendencies  as  contrasted  with 
the  laconic  sententiousness  of  Hazon. 

"  I  rule,  therefore,"  went  on  the  king,  "  that 
Nomtyeketye  be  taken  hence  to  where  atonement  is 
offered.  The  other  may  depart  from  among  us  to 
his  own  land." 

A  shout  of  approval  rose  from  the  vast  crowd  with- 
285 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

out  as  the  decision  became  known.  Some  there  were 
who  clamoured  for  two  victims — but  the  king's  de- 
cision was  not  lightly  to  be  questioned.  And  before 
the  shout  had  died  into  a  murmur  the  whole  multitude 
of  hideous  black  figures  in  their  weird  disguise  came 
bounding  across  the  open  space  to  seize  their  victim. 
But  before  they  could  surround  the  latter  an  un- 
looked-for interruption  occurred. 

"  Hold!  "  cried  a  loud  voice.  "  I  have  a  favour  to 
ask  the  king.  I,  who  bear  the  Sign!"  And  Lau- 
rence, who  in  the  midst  of  one  of  the  listening  groups 
had  been  unseen  hitherto,  now  came  forward,  none 
hindering,  and  stood  before  the  king. 

A  deep  silence  was  upon  all.  Every  head  was  bent 
forward.  The  frightful  priesthood  of  the  demon 
paused,  with  staring  eyes,  to  wait  on  what  new  turn 
events  would  take. 

"  Say  on,  Nyonyoba,"  said  Tyisandhlu  shortly, 
looking  anything  but  pleased  at  the  interruption. 

"  It  is  this,  O  Burning  Wind.  Let  Nomtyeketye 
return  to  his  own  people.  I  will  take  his  place." 

"You?"  exclaimed  the  king,  as  a  gasp  of  amaze- 
ment shivered  through  the  listeners. 

"  Yes,  I.  Hearken,  Ndabezita.  I  it  was  who 
brought  him  hither.  He  is  young,  and  his  life  is  all 
before  him.  Mine  is  all  behind  me,  and  lias  been  no 
great  gain  at  that.  I  will  proceed  with  these  " — 
with  a  glance  in  the  direction  of  the  blackly  horrible 
group — "  to  where  atonement  is  offered.  But  let  the 
two  return  together  to  their  own  land." 

"Pause,  Nyonyoba!  Pause  and  think!"  said  the 
king,  speaking  in  a  deep  and  solemn  voice.  ''That 

286 


HIS   LIFE   FOR   HIS   FRIEND. 

which  awaits  you,  if  I  grant  your  request,  is  of  no 
light  order.  Men  have  sought  their  own  death  rather 
than  face  it.  Pause,  I  say."  Then  rapidly,  and 
speaking  very  low :  "  Even  I  cannot  save  you  there. 
It  may  be  that  the  Sign  itself  cannot." 

Now,  what  moved  him  to  an  act  of  heroic  self- 
sacrifice,  Laurence  Stanninghame  hardly  knew  him- 
self. It  may  have  been  that  he  did  not  appreciate  its 
magnitude.  It  may  have  been  that  he  held  more  than 
a  lingering  belief  that  the  king  would  find  some  secret 
means  for  his  deliverance,  whereas  to  his  younger 
comrade  no  such  way  of  escape  lay  open.  Or  was  it 
that  at  this  moment  certain  words,  spoken  long  ago 
in  warning,  now  stood  forth  clear  and  in  flaming 
letters  upon  his  brain:  "Other  men  have  gone  up 
country  with  Hason,  but  not  one  of  them  has  ever 
returned!  "  He  himself,  abiding  henceforward  among 
the  Ba-gcatya,  and  Holmes  consigned  to  the  mysteri- 
ous doom,  would  not  those  warning  words  be  carried 
out  in  all  their  fell  fatality?  But  that  after  these  years 
of  hardening  in  the  lurid  school  of  bloodshed  and 
ruthlessness  he  should  be  capable  of  sacrificing  him- 
self for  another,  through  motives  of  impulsive  gener- 
osity, Laurence  could  not  have  brought  himself  to 
believe.  Indeed,  he  could  not  have  defined  his  own 
motives. 

"  Give  me  your  word,  Great  Great  One,  in  the  sight 
of  the  whole  nation,"  he  said  in  a  loud  voice,  "  that 
these  two  shall  be  suffered  to  depart  unharmed — 
now,  at  once — and  I  will  take  the  place  of  Nomtye- 
ketye." 

"  That  will  I  readily  do,  Nyonyoba.  for  I  have  no 
287 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

need   of   strangers    here    such   as   these,"    answered 
Tyisandhlu.     Then,  sadly,  "  And — you  are  resolved?  " 

"  I  am." 

"  Then  it  must  be.  For  ye  two,  go  in  peace; — 
enough  shall  be  given  you  for  your  journey." 

Holmes,  who  understood  the  language  very  im- 
perfectly, had  no  clear  notion,  even  then,  of  what  had 
taken  place.  But  when  he  saw  the  gigantic  forms  in 
their  black  disguise  bounding  forward  to  surround 
Laurence,  he,  being  otherwise  unarmed,  instinctively 
threw  himself  into  a  boxing  attitude,  which  was,  un- 
der the  circumstances,  ridiculous,  if  natural. 

"  Keep  cool,  you  young  idiot,"  snarled  Hazon. 
"  We're  out  of  this  mess  better  than  we  deserve." 

"  Why,  what's  happened?  " 

"  Stanninghame  is  acting  substitute  for  you,  and 
we  are  to  be  fired  out  of  the  country,  which  is  good 
news  to  you,  I  take  it." 

"  But  I  can't  allow  it!  "  cried  Holmes  bewilderedly, 
as  the  truth  began  to  dawn  upon  him.  "  No,  hang  it, 
I  can't,— tell  the  king,  I " 

"  No  good!  Keep  your  hair  on!  and  remember, 
too,  it's  more  than  probable  he  won't  come  to  any 
harm.  He  stands  in  with  them  too  well." 

Holmes,  more  than  half  reassured,  suffered  himself 
to  be  persuaded — especially  as  he  was  powerless  to 
do  anything  at  all.  But  whether  Hazon  believed  or 
not  in  what  he  had  just  advanced  must  remain  for- 
ever locked  up  as  a  mystery  in  the  breast  of  that  in- 
scrutable individual.  One  thing,  however,  he  did  not 
believe  in,  and  that  was  in  he  himself  suffering  for 
the  foolishness  of  other  people. 

288 


HIS   LIFE   FOR   HIS   FRIEND. 

Meanwhile  Laurence,  in  the  midst  of  his  disguised 
executioners,  was  pursued  by  the  howling  and  execra- 
tions of  the  crowds,  which  parted  eagerly  to  make 
way  for  their  passage.  Outside  on  the  open  plain  a 
vast  mob  of  women  had  collected,  yelling  shrilly  at 
him — and  even  pelting  him  with  earth  and  sticks.  One 
of  the  latter,  thrown  at  close  quarters,  hurling  over  the 
heads  of  his  guards,  struck  him  on  the  shoulder,  pain- 
fully and  hard.  He  looked  up.  It  had  been  hurled 
by  the  hand  of  Lindela;  and  as  he  met  her  eyes  full, 
the  face  which  he  had  last  looked  upon  softening  and 
glowing  with  the  wondrous  light  of  love,  was  now 
wreathed  into  a  horrible  grin  of  hate  and  savagery. 

"  Yau!  The  Spider  is  hungry!  Fare  thee  well, 
Umtagati,"*  jeered  the  chief's  daughter  shrilly. 

*  Doer  of  witchcraft. 


289 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE   PLACE    OF   THE   HORROR. 

WAS  he  awake — asleep  and  dreaming — or — dead? 

All  these  questions  did  Laurence  Stanninghame 
ask  himself  by  turn  as  he  recovered  his  confused  and 
scattered  senses;  and  there  was  abundant  scope  for 
such  conjecture  for,  in  truth,  the  place  wherein  he 
found  himself  was  a  strange  one. 

A  wall  of  rock  arose  on  either  side  of  him — one 
straight,  perpendicular,  the  other  overhanging,  arch- 
ing out  above  the  first.  As  he  lay  there  in  the  semi- 
gloom,  his  first  thought  was  that  he  was  in  a  cave;  a 
further  glance,  however,  convinced  him  that  the  place 
was  a  gigantic  fissure  or  rift.  But  how  had  he  come 
there? 

With  an  effort,  for  he  still  fejt  strangely  languid 
and  confused,  he  sent  his  mind  back  to  the  events  of 
the  previous  day.  Stay,  though — was  it  the  previous 
day?  Somehow  it  seemed  much  longer  ago.  He  re- 
membered the  long  hurried  march  into  the  heart  of 
the  mountains  with  his  gruesome  escort.  He  re- 
membered partaking  of  a  plentiful  meal  and  some 
excellent  corn-beer;  this  he  had  done  with  a  view  to 
keeping  up  his  strength,  which  he  might  need  to  the 
full.  Then  he  remembered  lio  more.  The  liquor 
had  been  drugged,  he  decided. 

But  to  what  end?  To  what  end,  indeed,  was  he 
290 


"  I   AM    DYING,    BELOVED — AND    SHALL   SOON    GO    INTO 
THE   DARK    UNKNOWN." 


THE   PLACE   OF   THE    HORROR. 

there?  How  had  he  been  brought  there?  He  raised 
himself  on  his  elbow  and  looked  around. 

He  started.  A  large  bundle  lay  beside  him — some- 
thing rolled  up  in  a  native  blanket.  Speedily  undoing 
this,  he  discovered  several  grass  baskets  with  lids. 
These  contained  pounded  corn,  such  as  is  eaten  with 
amati,  or  curdled  milk — and,  indeed,  a  large  calabash 
of  the  latter,  tightly  stoppered,  was  among  the  stores. 
Well,  whatever  was  to  become  of  him,  he  was  not  to 
starve,  anyhow.  But  was  he  only  being  fattened  for 
a  worse  fate? 

Then  a  thought  struck  him,  which  set  all  his  pulses 
tingling  into  renewed  life.  He,  too,  had  been  sent 
out  of  the  country,  and  these  stores  were  to  last  him 
for,  at  any  rate,  part  of  his  journey.  True,  the 
prospect  was  anything  but  an  exhilarating  one,  seeing 
that  he  was  unarmed,  and  had  but  the  vaguest  idea 
ivhich  way  to  turn;  that  the  Ba-gcatya  country  was 
surrounded  by  ferocious  and  hostile  races.  But  then, 
everything  is  relative  in  this  world,  and  to  a  man 
who  has  spent  hours  of  a  long  day  journeying  towards 
a  mysterious,  horrible,  and  certain  death,  the  dis- 
covery of  release  and  life,  even  with  such  slender 
chances,  was  joy  after  the  boding  dread  which  those 
long  hours  had  held  for  him.  Yes,  that  was  it,  of 
course.  Tyisandhlu  had  not  been  faithless  to  the 
friendship  between  them.  While  openly  consenting 
to  his  sacrifice,  for  even  the  king  dare  not,  in  such  a 
matter,  run  counter  to  the  feelings  of  the  nation, 
Tyisandhlu  had  given  secret  orders  that  he  should  be 
smuggled  out  of  the  country. 

Having  arrived  at  this  conclusion,  it  occurred  to 
291 


THE  SIGN   OF  THE  SPIDER. 

Laurence  that  he  might  as  well  explore  a  little.  He 
would  leave  his  stores  here  for  the  present;  for  a 
glance  served  to  show  that  the  rift  or  fissure  ended 
there,  so  taking  only  a  handful  of  the  pounded  corn, 
to  eat  as  he  walked,  he  started  at  once. 

But  there  was  a  something,  a  cold  creepiness  in  the 
air  perhaps,  that  quelled  much  of  his  new-born  hope. 
The  rift  seemed  to  form  a  kind  of  circle,  for  he  walked 
on  and  on,  ever  trending  to  the  right,  never  able  to 
see  more  than  a  short  distance  in  front;  never  able  to 
behold  the  sky.  There  was  something  silently,  horri- 
bly eloquent  in  the  grim  sameness  of  those  tomblike 
walls.  Just  then,  to  his  relief,  the  semi-gloom  widened 
into  light.  The  cliffs  no  longer  overhung  each  other. 
A  narrow  strip  of  sky  became  visible,  and,  in  front, 
the  open  daylight. 

But  with  the  joy  of  the  discovery  another  sight  met 
his  gaze,  a  sight  which  sent  the  blood  tingling 
through  his  veins.  Yet,  at  first  glance,  it  was  not  a 
particularly  moving  one.  On  the  ground,  at  his  feet, 
lay  two  unobtrusive-looking  pebbles  of  a  bluish  gray. 
But  as  the  next  moment  he  held  them  in  his  hands, 
Laurence  knew  that  he  held  in  a  moment  what  he  had 
gone  through  years  of  privation  and  ruthless  blood- 
shed to  obtain — wealth,  to  wit.  For  these  two  unob- 
trusive pebbles  were,  in  fact,  splendid  diamonds! 

More  of  them?  Of  course  there  were.  The 
exploration  could  wait  a  little  longer.  An  accident 
might  cut  him  off  from  this  spot — might  cut  him  off 
from  such  a  chance  forever.  The  hands  of  the 
seasoned  adventurer  trembled  like  those  of  a  palsied 
old  woman  as  he  turned  over  the  loose  soil  with  his 

292 


THE   PLACE   OF   THE   HORROR. 

foot,  for  instrument  of  any  kind  he  had  none;  and  in- 
deed, his  agitation  was  not  surprising,  for  in  less  than 
an  hour  Laurence  was  in  possession  of  eight  more 
splendid  stones  as  large  as  the  first,  besides  a  number 
of  small  ones.  He  knew  that  he  held  that  which 
'should  enable  him  to  pass  the  remainder  of  his  life  in 
wealth  and  ease,  could  he  once  get  safe  away. 

Could  he?  Ah,  there  came  in  the  dead  weight — 
the  fulfilling  of  that  strange  irony  of  fate  which  well- 
nigh  invariably  wills  that  the  good  of  life  comes  to 
us  a  trifle  too  late.  For  his  search  had  brought  him 
quite  into  the  open  day  once  more.  Before  him  lay 
a  valley — or  rather  hollow — of  no  great  size,  and — it 
was  shut  in — completely  walled  in  by  an  amphitheatre 
of  lofty  cliffs. 

Cliffs  on  all  sides — at  some  points  smooth  and  per- 
pendicular, at  others  actually  overhanging,  at  others, 
again,  craggy  and  broken  into  terraces ;  but,  even  with 
the  proper  appliances,  probably  unscalable;  that  de- 
tail his  practised  eye  could  take  in  at  a  glance.  How, 
then,  should  he  hope  to  scale  them,  absolutely  devoid, 
as  he  was,  of  so  much  as  a  stick — let  alone  a  cord. 

A  cord?  How  had  he  been  brought  there?  Had 
he  been  let  down  by  a  cord — or  brought  in  by  some 
secret  entrance?  the  latter  appeared  more  probable; 
and  that  entrance  he  would  find, — would  find  and 
traverse,  be  its  risks,  be  its  terrors  what  they  might. 
He  had  that  upon  him  now  which  rendered  life  worth 
any  struggle  to  preserve. 

He  stepped  forth.  The  sky  was  over  his  head  once 
more,  clear  and  blue.  That  was  something.  By  the 
slant  of  the  sunrays  he  judged  it  must  be  about  the 

293 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

middle  of  afternoon.  The  floor  of  the  hollow  was 
bumpy  and  uneven.  Sparse  and  half-dry  grass  bents 
sprung  from  the  soil,  but  no  larger  vegetation — no 
trees,  no  brush.  Stranger  still,  there  was  no  sign  of 
life — even  of  bird  or  insect  life.  An  evil,  haunted 
silence  seemed  to  brood  over  the  great,  crater-like 
hollow. 

The  silence  became  weighty,  oppressive.  Laurence, 
in  spite  of  himself,  felt  it  steal  upon  his  nerves,  and 
began  to  whistle  a  lively  tune — as  he  walked  slowly 
around,  examining  the  cliffs,  and  every  crack  and 
cranny,  with  critical  eye.  The  echoing  notes  re- 
verberated weirdly  among  the  brooding  rocks.  Sud- 
denly his  foot  struck  something — something  hard. 
He  looked  down,  and  could  not  repress  a  start.  There 
at  his  feet,  grinning  up  at  him,  lay  a  human  skull — 
nay,  more,  a  well-nigh  complete  skeleton. 

It  was  a  gruesome  find  under  the  circumstances. 
Laurence,  his  nerves  unstrung  by  the  effects  of  the 
drug,  and  recent  alternations  of  exultation  and  what 
was  akin  to  despair,  felt  his  flesh  creep.  What  did 
it  mean?  Why,  that  no  way  of  escape  did  this  valley 
of  death  afford.  This  former  victim — had  he  been 
placed  there  in  the  same  way  as  himself,  and,  all 
means  of  exit  failing,  had  succumbed  to  starvation 
when  his  provisions  were  exhausted?  It  looked  that 
way.  Bending  down,  he  examined  this  sorry  relic  of 
humanity — examined  it  long  and  carefully.  No  bone 
was  broken,  the  skeleton  was  almost  complete;  where 
it  was  not,  the  joints  had  fallen  asunder  without 
wrench,  and  the  smooth  round  cranium  showed  not 
the  slightest  sign  of  abrasion  or  blow. 

294 


THE   PLACE   OF   THE    HORROR. 

With  sinking  heart  he  pursued  his  search ;  yet  some- 
how his  attention  now  was  given  but  languidly  to 
potential  means  of  exit  which  the  faces  of  the  cliffs 
might  afford.  Something  seemed  irresistibly  to  draw 
it  to  the  ground.  Ha!  that  was  it.  Again  that  hor- 
rid gleam  of  whitened  bones.  Another  skeleton  lay 
before  him — and  look,  another,  and  another,  at  short 
distances  apart.  All  these,  like  the  first,  were  un- 
shattered,  uninjured;  but — the  whole  area  here  was 
strewn  with  skulls,  yellow  and  brown  with  age, — was 
strewn  with  bones  also,  mossy,  mahogany-hued,  and 
which  crackled  under  his  tread.' 

No  one  could  be  more  ruthless,  more  callous;  no 
man  could  view  scenes  of  cruelty  and  bloodshed  more 
unmoved  than  Laurence  Stanninghame, — as  we  have 
shown, — or  bear  his  part  more  coolly  and  effectively 
in  the  fiercest  conflict;  yet  there  was  something  in 
these  silent  human  relics  lying  there  bloodless;  in  the 
unnatural,  haunted  silence  of  this  dreadful  death-val- 
ley that  caused  his  flesh  to  creep.  Then  he  noticed 
that  all  were  lying  along  the  slope  of  a  ridge  which 
ran  right  across  the  hollow,  dividing  the  floor  of  the 
same  into  two  sections.  He  must  needs  go  over  that 
ridge  to  complete  his  explorations,  yet  now  he  shrank 
from  it  with  awe  and  repugnance  which  in  any  other 
man  he  would  have  defined  as  little  short  of  terror. 
What  would  await  him  on  the  other  side? 

Well,  he  must  go  through  with  it.  Probably  he 
would  find  more  of  such  ghastly  relics — that  was  all. 
But  as  he  stood  upon  the  apex  of  the  ridge,  with 
pulses  somewhat  quickened,  no  whitening  bones  met 
his  gaze — fixed,  dilated  as  that  gaze  was.  The  cliff 

295 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

in  front — he  thought  to  descry  some  faint  chance  of 
escape  there,  for  its  face  was  terraced  and  sloping 
backward  somewhat.  Moreover,  it  was  rent  by  cran- 
nies and  crevices,  which,  to  a  desperate  and  determined 
man,  might  afford  hand  and  foothold. 

And  now  for  the  first  time  it  flashed  upon  Laurence 
that  the  mystery  of  "  The  Spider  "  stood  explained. 
This  horrible  hole  whence  there  was  no  escape — 
where  men  were  thrust  to  die  by  inches  as  all  of  these 
had  died  before  him — the  repulsive  and  blood-sucking 
insect  was  in  truth  a  fitting  name  allegorically  for 
such  a  place,  which  swallowed  up  the  lives  of  men. 
Besides,  for  all  he  knew,  the  configuration  of  the  crater 
might,  from  above,  resemble  the  tutelary  insect  of  the 
Ba-gcatya.  Yes;  he  had  solved  the  mystery,  as  to 
that  he  was  confident — the  next  thing  to  do  was  to 
find  some  way  out,  to  break  through  the  fatality  of 
the  place. 

For  the  first  time  now  his  shoulder  began  to  feel 
stiff  and  sore,  where  the  stick  hurled  by  Lindela  had 
struck  him.  That  was  a  bad  preparation  for  the  most 
perilous  kind  of  cliff-climbing.  Then  the  incident  re- 
called to  mind  Lindela  herself.  Her  sudden  change  of 
front  was  just  such  an  oddity  as  any  of  the  half-ironical 
incidents  which  go  to  make  up  the  sum  of  life's  ex- 
periences. Well,  savage  or  civilized,  human  nature 
was  singularly  alike.  A  touch  of  superstition  and  the 
god  of  yesterday  became  the  demon  of  to-day. 

Thus  musing,  he  came,  suddenly  and  unexpectedly, 
upon  another  skeleton.  But  the  effect  of  the  dis- 
covery of  this  was  even  more  disconcerting  than  that 
of  the  first.  For,  around,  lay  rotting  rags  of  clothing, 

296 


THE   PLACE   OF   THE   HORROR. 

and  a  gold  ornament  or  two.  These  remains  he 
recognized  at  a  glance.  They  were  those  of  Lutali. 

Yes,  here  was  a  broad  bracelet  of  gold,  curiously 
worked  with  the  text  of  the  Koran,  which  he  had  seen 
last  on  the  Arab's  sinewy  wrist.  Now  that  wrist  was 
but  a  grisly  bone.  There,  too,  were  parchment  strips, 
also  inscribed  with  Koran  passages,  and  worn  in 
a  pouch  as  amulets.  The  identity  of  these  remains 
was  established  beyond  a  doubt. 

But  the  discovery  inspired  within  him  a  renewed 
chill  of  despair.  If  Lutali  had  been  unable  to  find 
means  of  escape,  how  should  he?  The  Arab  was  a 
man  of  great  readiness  of  resource,  of  indomitable 
courage,  and  powerfully  built.  If  such  a  one  had 
succumbed,  why  should  he,  Laurence,  fare  any  better? 
He  sat  down  once  more,  and,  gazing  upon  the  sorry 
remnant  of  his  late  confederate,  began  to  think. 

What  a  strange,  vast,  practical  joke  was  that  thing 
called  life.  Here  was  he  at  the  end  of  it,  and  the  very 
means  of  ending  it  for  him  had,  at  the  same  time, 
put  him  into  possession  of  that  which  rendered  it 
worth  having  at  all.  He  felt  the  stones  lying  hard 
and  angular  in  his  pockets,  he  even  took  out  one  of 
them  and  turned  it  over  sadly  in  his  hands.  He  would 
gladly  give  a  portion  of  these  to  be  standing  on  the 
summit  of  yonder  cliff  instead  of  at  the  base;  not  yet 
had  he  come  to  feel  he  would  gladly  give  them  all.  It 
was  only  of  a  continuance  with  what  life  had  brought 
him  that  he  should  be  there  at  all.  He  had  sacrificed 
himself  for  another.  The  sublimity  of  the  act  even 
yet  did  not  strike  him.  He  regarded  it  as  half-humor- 
ous, half-idiotic, — the  first  because  his  cynical  creed 

297 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER, 

was  bolstered  up  by  the  consciousness  that  Holmes 
would  never  more  than  half  appreciate  it;  the  last, 
because — well — all  unselfishness,  all  consideration, 
was  idiotic. 

Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  it  would  be  time 
enough  to  sit  down  and  dream  when  he  had  exhausted 
all  expedients,  and  he  had  not  explored  that  side  of  the 
hollow  at  all  yet.  To  this  end  he  moved  forward.  A 
very  brief  scrutiny,  however,  of  the  face  of  the  cliff 
sufficed  to  show  that  for  climbing  purposes  the  cracks 
and  crannies  were  useless. 

Ha!  What  was  this?  A  cave  or  a  rift?  Right 
in  front  of  him  the  cliff  yawned  in  just  such  a  rift  as 
the  one  in  which  he  had  awakened  to  find  himself, 
only  not  on  anything  like  such  a  large  scale.  Eagerly 
Laurence  plunged  into  this.  Here  might  be  a  way  to 
the  outer  world — to  safety. 

He  pressed  onward  in  the  semi-gloom.  The  rocks 
darkened  overhead,  forming,  in  effect,  a  cave.  And 
now  it  seemed  that  he  could  hear  a  strange,  soft,  scrap- 
ing, a  kind  of  sighing  noise.  A  puff-adder  was  his 
first  thought,  looking  around  for  the  reptile.  But  no 
such  reptile  lay  in  his  path,  and  he  had  no  means  of 
striking  a  light.  With  a  dull  shrinking,  his  flesh 
creeping  with  a  strange  foreboding,  as  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  some  fearful  prescience,  he  decided  to 
push  on,  being  careful,  however,  to  tread  warily. 
This  was  no  time  for  sticking  at  trifles. 

But  as  he  advanced  the  air  became  foetid  with  a 
strange,  pungent,  nauseous  odour.  There  were 
lateral  clefts  branching  off  the  main  gallery,  but  of  no 
depth,  and  to  these  he  had  given  but  small  notice. 

298 


THE   PLACE  OF  THE   HORROR. 

Now,  however,  something  occurred  of  so  appalling  a 
nature  that  he  stood  as  one  turned  to  stone. 

There  shot  out  from  one  of  these  lateral  recesses 
two  enormous  tentacles — black,  wavy  as  serpents, 
covered  with  hair,  armed  at  the  extremity  with  a 
strong  double  claw.  They  reached  forth  noiselessly  to 
within  a  couple  of  yards  of  where  he  stood,  then  two 
more  followed  with  a  quick,  wavy  jerk.  And  now 
behind  these,  a  head,  as  large  as  that  of  a  man,  black, 
hairy,  bearing  a  strange  resemblance  to  the  most  awful 
and  cruel  human  face  ever  stamped  with  the  devil's 
image — whose  dull,  goggle  eyes,  fixed  on  the  appalled 
ones  of  its  discoverer,  seemed  to  glow  and  burn  with 
a  truly  diabolical  glare. 

Laurence  stood — staring  into  the  countenance  of 
this  awful  thing — his  blood  curdled  to  ice  within  him, 
his  hair  literally  standing  up.  Was  it  the  Fiend  him- 
self who  had  taken  such  unknown  and  fearful  shape 
to  appear  before  him  here  in  the  gloom  of  this  foul 
and  loathsome  cavern?  Then,  as  his  eyes  grew  more 
and  more  used  to  the  dim  shades,  he  made  out  a  huge 
body  crouched  back  in  the  recess,  half  hidden  by  a 
quivering  mass  of  black,  hairy  tentacles. 

For  a  few  moments  thus  he  stood — then  with  a  cry 
of  horror  he  threw  out  his  hand  as  though  instinct- 
ively to  ward  off  an  attack.  The  four  tentacles 
already  protruded  were  quickly  withdrawn,  and  the 
fearful  creature,  whatever  it  was,  seemed  to  shrink 
back  into  the  cranny.  One  last  look  upon  the  hairy 
heap  of  moving,  writhing  horror — upon  those  dread- 
ful demon  eyes,  and  this  man,  who  had  faced  death 
again  and  again  without  shrinking,  now  felt  it  all  he 

299 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

could  do  to  resist  an  impulse  to  turn  and  flee  like  a 
hunted  hare.  He  did,  however,  resist  it — yet  it  was 
with  flesh  shuddering  and  knees  trembling  beneath 
him  that  he  withdrew,  step  by  step,  backwards,  until 
he  stood  once  more  in  the  full  light  of  day. 


300 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE   HORROR. 

VAMPIRE — insect — devil — what  was  the  thing? 
From  the  length  and  thickness  of  those  frightful  tenta- 
cle-like legs,  stretching  forth  from  the  cranny — Lau- 
rence— who  had  not  halted  until  he  had  gained  the 
ridge  dividing  the  hollow — estimated  that  the  crea- 
ture when  spread  out  must  be  eight  or  ten  feet  in 
diameter. 

He  looked  back.  It  had  not  followed  him  from  the 
cave.  Why  had  it  not?  Was  it  waiting  for  night — 
to  steal  upon  him  in  the  darkness,  to  wreath  around 
him  those  terrible  tentacles,  and  to  drain  his  life- 
blood? 

Now,  indeed,  all  stood  clear.  "  The  Spider  "  was 
no  allegorical  term,  but  literal  fact.  That  frightful 
monster  with  which  he  had  just  come  face  to  face  was 
indeed  the  demon-god  of  the  Ba-gcatya!  It  was 
actually  fed  with  living  men,  in  accordance  with  some 
dark  and  mysterious  superstition  held  by  that  other- 
wise fine  race.  Now  the  fate  of  those  whose  skeletons 
lay  around  stood  accounted  for.  They  had  been  de- 
voured by  this  unimaginable  horror.  Alive?  It  was 
almost  certain — possibly  when  weakened  by  starva- 
tion. Yet  a  gruesome  thought  entered  his  mind. 
Why  had  an  abundance  of  food  been  lowered  with 
him  into  this  hell-pit?  Did  not  the  circumstance 

301 


THE  SIGN  OF  THE  SPIDER. 

make  as  though  it  was  in  their  full  vigour  that  the 
monster  was  designed  to  seize  its  victims — and  in  that 
event,  with  what  an  extent  of  strength  and  fell  ferocity 
must  it  not  be  endowed? 

But  what  was  this  thing?  Laurence  had  seen 
spiders  of  every  variety,  huge  and  venomous,  and  of 
grisly  size,  yet  nothing  like  this.  Why,  the  creature 
was  as  large  as  a  bear  nearly !  It  must  be  some  beast 
hitherto  unknown  to  natural  history;  yet  those  awful 
tentacles — joints,  hair,  everything — could  not  but 
belong  to  an  insect — were,  in  fact,  precisely  as  the  legs 
of  a  huge  tarantula,  magnified  five  hundred-fold. 
What  ghastly  and  blood-curdling  freak  of  nature  could 
have  produced  such  a  monstrosity  as  this?  Why,  the 
very  sight  of  the  awful  thing  huddled  up,  black,  within 
the  gloom  of  the  cranny,  the  horrid  tentacles — a 
hundred-fold  more  repulsive,  more  blood-curdling 
than  though  they  actually  were  so  many  serpents — 
moving  and  writhing  in  a  great  quivering,  hairy,  in- 
tertwined mass — was  in  itself  a  sight  to  haunt  his 
dreams  until  his  dying  day,  did  he  live  another  fifty 
years.  What  must  it  mean,  then,  to  realize  that  he 
was  actually  shut  in — escape  impossible — with  the 
deliberate  purpose  of  being  devoured  by  this  vampire, 
this  demon,  even  as  all  these  others  had  been  devoured 
before  him? 

At  this  juncture  of  his  meditations  his  mind  became 
alive  to  two  discoveries — one,  that  he  had  gained  the 
farther  end  of  the  ridge  than  that  by  which  he  had 
crossed;  the  other,  that  immediately  before  and  be- 
neath him,  just  over  the  slope  of  the  ridge,  lay  the 
body  of  a  man. 

302 


THE   HORROR. 

Yes — the  body  of  a  man,  not  the  skeleton  of  one. 
That  it  was  that  of  a  dead  man  he  could  see  at  a  glance 
— also  that  it  was  one  of  the  Ba-gcatya.  With  a 
shudder  he  remembered  the  luckless  wretch  he  had 
seen  dragged  away  but  a  day  or  two  before  his  own 
seizure — whether  for  evil-doing  or  as  a  customary 
sacrifice  he  had  been  condemned  to  this,  Laurence 
had  not  inquired  at  the  time.  Casting  one  more  look 
at  the  cave,  and  satisfying  himself  that  the  monster 
had  not  emerged,  Laurence  went  down  to  examine 
the  body. 

It  was  that  of  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life — and  wear- 
ing the  head-ring.  It  was  lying  on  its  back,  the 
throat  upturned  and  protruding.  And  then  Lau- 
rence shudderingly  noticed  two  round  gaping  ori- 
fices at  the  base  of  the  throat,  clearly  where  the  great 
nippers  of  the  monster  had  punctured.  The  limbs, 
too,  were  scratched  and  scored  as  though  with  claws; 
and  upon  the  dead  face  was  such  an  awful  expression 
of  the  very  extremity  of  horror  and  dread  as  the  spec- 
tator, accustomed  as  he  was  to  such  sights,  had  never 
beheld  stamped  on  the  human  countenance  before. 
And  beholding  it  now,  Laurence  Stanninghame  felt 
that  the  perspiration  was  oozing  upon  him  at  every 
pore,  for  he  realized  that  he  was  looking  upon  a  fore- 
sight of  his  own  fate;  for  was  he  not  that  most  per- 
fectly and  completely  helpless  of  all  God's  creatures — 
an  unarmed  man! 

He  had  not  so  much  as  a  stick  or  a  pocket-knife  to 
resist  the  onslaught  of  this  blood-drinking  monster — 
no,  not  even  a  boot,  for  it  flashed  across  his  mind  at 
that  moment  that  a  good  iron-shod  heel  might  be 

3°3 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

better  than  nothing.  He  was  wearing  only  a  low- 
soled  pair  of  ordinary  velschoenen — hide  shoes,  to  wit. 
There  were  not  even  stones  lying  about  the  ground, 
save  very  small  ones,  and  he  had  no  means  of  loosen- 
ing rock  slabs  large  enough  to  serve  as  weapons. 
There  was  no  place  of  refuge  to  climb  into  afforded 
by  ledges  or  pinnacles  of  rock,  and  even  were  there, 
why,  the  thing  could  surely  come  up  after  him  as 
easily  as  the  common  tarantula  could  run  up  a  wall. 
Nothing  is  more  completely  demoralizing  than  the 
helplessness  of  an  unarmed  man.  With  his  Express 
— or  his  six-shooter — this  one  would  have  regarded  the 
situation  in  the  light  of  a  wholly  new  and  adventurous 
excitement — with  even  a  large  strong-bladed  knife  he 
would  have  been  willing  to  take  his  chances.  But  he 
was  totally  unarmed.  It  seemed  to  Laurence  that  in 
that  brief  while  he  had  lived  a  lifetime  of  mortal 
fear. 

Then  with  a  mighty  effort  he  pulled  himself  to- 
gether. He  would  return  to  where  he  had  left  his 
stores  ere  commencing  the  exploration.  Nobody 
ever  yet  improved  a  situation  of  peril  by  starving  him- 
self. Yet  as  he  wended  his  way  up  the  long  chasm 
wherein  he  had  first  awakened  to  life,  it  was  with  a 
feeling  of  shuddering  repulsion.  The  place  bore  such 
a  close  resemblance  now  to  that  other  cave;  yet  here, 
at  any  rate,  he  knew  there  was  nothing. 

He  opened  the  corn  baskets  and  the  calabash  of 
amasi,  and  made  a  fairly  good  meal.  Then,  by  the 
glooming  shades  of  the  overhanging  rock,  he  judged 
that  daylight  was  waning.  Out  into  the  open  once 
more — the  open  air  might  render  such  a  life-and- 

304 


THE  HORROR. 

death  struggle  with  the  monster  a  trifle  less  horrible 
than  here,  shut  in  by  these  tomb-like  rock  walls. 

The  gray  of  the  brief  twilight  was  upon  the  faces  of 
the  surrounding  cliffs,  which  soon  faded  into  misty 
gloom.  Only  the  stars,  leaping  into  the  misty  gloom 
— only  the  stars,  leaping  forth  into  the  inky  sky,  shed 
an  indistinct  light  into  this  vault  of  horror  and  of 
death.  He  was  shut  in  here — and  shut  in  with  this 
awful  thing  which  should  find  him  out  during  the 
hours  of  darkness.  And,  marvellous  to  tell,  a  sud- 
den drowsiness  came  upon  him — and  whether  the 
effects  of  the  drug  still  lingered  about  him,  or  was  it 
the  reaction  from  an  overstrained  mind?  he  actually 
slept — slept  hard  and  dreamlessly. 

Suddenly  he  awoke — awoke  with  the  weight  of  an 
indefinable  terror  upon  him.  A  broad  moon  in  its 
third  quarter  was  sailing  aloft  in  the  heavens,  flooding 
the  hollow  with  its  ghostly  light.  Instinctively  he 
sprang  to  his  feet.  As  he  did  so  there  came  upon 
him  a  resistless  and  shuddering  fear  akin  to  that  which 
had  paralyzed  him  in  the  cave.  What  was  it?  The 
magnetic  proximity  of  the  awful  thing  stealthily  stalk- 
ing him?  No.  The  reason  now  lay  clear. 

In  the  moonlight  he  could  make  out,  shadowy  and 
indistinct,  the  corpse  he  had  found  during  the  after- 
noon. But,  as  he  gazed,  a  change  seemed  to  have 
come  over  it.  It  had  increased  in  size — had  more 
than  doubled  its  bulk.  Heavens!  the  dark  mass  began 
to  move — to  heave — and  then  he  thought  the  very 
acme  of  horror  was  reached.  Not  one  body  was 
there,  but  two.  Spread  out  over  the  human  body  was 
that  of  the  monster.  Now  he  could  make  out  almost 

305 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

every  detail  of  its  hideous  shape,  the  convulsive 
working  of  the  frightful  tentacles  as  it  devoured  its 
lifeless  prey.  He  could  stand  it  no  longer.  His  brain 
was  bursting;  he  must  do  something.  Raising  his 
voice  he  shouted — shouted  as  assuredly  he  had  never 
shouted  in  his  life.  There  was  a  maniacal  ring  in  his 
voice.  He  felt  as  though  he  must  rush  right  at  this 
thing  of  fear.  Was  he  really  going  mad?  Well,  it 
began  to  look  like  it. 

But  the  effect  was  prompt.  The  awful  vampire, 
gathering  its  horrible  legs  under  it,  sprang  clear  of 
the  carcass.  It  stood  for  a  moment  in  rigid  immo- 
bility, then  ere  the  maniacal  echoes  of  that  shout  had 
quavered  into  silence  among  the  cliffs,  it  shoggled 
over  the  ridge  and  was  lost  to  view. 

The  night  wore  through  somehow,  and  if  ever 
mortal  eyes  were  rejoiced  by  the  light  of  dawn, 
assuredly  they  were  those  of  Laurence  Stanninghame, 
as  once  more  he  found  himself  the  sole  living  tenant  of 
that  ghastly  place  of  death.  Yet,  to  what  end? 
One  more  dreary  day  in  his  rock  prison,  another  night 
of  horror — and — the  same  brooding  fate  awaiting! 
He  could  not  remain  awake  forever.  Even  though 
the  sound  of  his  voice  thus  unexpectedly  lifted  up  had 
alarmed  the  vampire,  it  would  not  always  do  so. 
Still,  with  the  light  of  the  new-born  day  after  the  night 
of  terror  came  some  medium  of  relief. 

Once  more  he  drew  upon  his  provision  stores. 
While  repacking  them  his  gaze  rested  on  the  native 
blanket  with  the  wild  idea  of  manufacturing  therefrom 
a  cord.  But  to  do  this  he  needed  a  knife.  The  stuff 
was  of  material  too  stout  for  tearing. 

306 


THE   HORROR. 

A  knife!  Ha!  With  the  thought  came  another. 
It  was  not  worth  much,  but  it  was  something, — and 
with  that  came  a  hard,  fierce,  desperate  hope.  The 
broad  gold  bracelet  which  still  encircled  Lutali's 
skeleton  wrist — could  not  that  be  banged  and  flat- 
tened into  something  sharp  and  serviceable?  It  was 
hard  metal,  anyway. 

Still  the  grim  horror  lurked  within  its  cave — still  it 
came  not  forth.  It  was  waiting  until  another  night 
should  embolden  it  to  seize  its  defenceless  human  prey. 
He  glanced  upwards.  There  were  still  from  two  to 
three  hours  of  daylight.  In  a  very  few  moments  he 
had  reached  the  skeleton  of  the  Arab,  and,  snapping 
off  the  bony  wrist  without  hesitation,  the  bracelet  was 
within  his  grasp. 

But  as  he  looked  around  for  some  means  of  flatten- 
ing it,  there  flashed  in  upon  him  another  idea — a 
perfectly  heaven-sent  idea,  grisly  under  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances, as  it  might  be.  The  bracelet  was  large 
and  massive,  and  for  it  a  new  use  suggested  itself. 
Critically  examining  the  skeletons,  he  selected  two 
with  the  largest  and  strongest  leg-bones.  These  he 
soon  wrenched  off,  and,  running  one  through  the  gold 
bracelet,  he  jammed  the  latter  fast  against  the  thicker 
end — binding  it  as  tightly  as  he  could  to  the  bulging 
joint  with  a  strip  torn  from  his  clothing.  With  a 
thrill  of  unutterable  joy  he  realized  that  he  was  no 
longer  unarmed.  He  had  manufactured  a  tolerably 
effective  mace.  He  swung  it  through  the  air  two  or 
three  times  with  all  his  force.  Such  a  blow  would 
strike  a  human  enemy  dead ; — was  this  thing  so  heavily 
armour-plated  as  to  be  proof  against  a  similar  stroke? 

307 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

With  one  idea  came  another.  These  bones  might 
be  further  utilized,  they  might  be  splintered  and 
sharpened  into  daggers.  No  sooner  thought  of  than 
carried  out.  And  now  the  skeletons  underwent  the 
most  ruthless  desecration.  Several  were  wrenched 
asunder  ere  he  had  selected  half  a  dozen  of  the  most 
serviceable — and  these  he  hammered  to  the  required 
size  with  his  newly  constructed  mace — sharpening 
them  on  the  rough  face  of  the  rock.  And  then,  as 
with  a  glow  of  satisfaction  he  sat  down  to  rest  and 
contemplate  his  handiwork — he  almost  laughed  over 
the  grim  whimsicality  of  it.  Did  ever  mortal  man  go 
into  close  conflict  armed  in  such  fashion — he  wondered 
— with  club  and  dagger  manufactured  out  of  the  bones 
of  men? 

Should  he  take  the  bull  by  the  horns,  and  advance 
boldly  to  attack  the  monster  in  its  own  den?  He 
shrank  from  this.  The  gloom  of  the  cavern  invested 
the  thing  with  an  additional  element  of  terror,  besides 
the  more  practical  consideration  that  a  confined  space 
might  hinder  him  in  the  use  of  his  bizarre  and  im- 
promptu weapons.  He  would  need  all  the  freedom 
of  hand  and  eye.  Once  more  he  took  out  the  metal 
box,  and  fed  his  eyes  long  and  earnestly  upon  its  con- 
tents. The  Sign  of  the  Spider!  Was  there  indeed 
an  influence  about  this  trinket — or  rather,  the  love 
which  had  hallowed  it — which  was  potent  to  stand 
between  him  and  peril  in  the  direst  extremity,  even  as 
it  had  stepped  between  him  and  certain  death  at  the 
spears  of  the  victorious  Ba-gcatya?  Slightly  im- 
proved as  was  his  helpless  condition,  yet  he  could  not 
hope.  Even  if  he  succeeded  in  slaying  the  monster, 

308 


THE   HORROR. 

how  should  he  escape  from  this  death-trap,  this  rock- 
prison?  The  second  day  closed. 

How  many  hours  of  darkness  should  precede  moon- 
rise  he  could  but  feebly  guess.  Grasping  his 
strangely  fashioned  club  in  his  right  hand,  and  the 
strongest  and  sharpest  of  his  bone  daggers  in  the  left 
— he  stood,  his  back  to  the  rock  wall,  so  as  not  to  be 
taken  in  the  rear;  never  relaxing  for  a  moment  in 
vigilance,  his  ears  strained  to  their  utmost  tension, 
his  eyeballs  striving  to  pierce  the  black  gloom.  More 
than  once  a  sound  as  of  stealthy,  ghostly  scrapings 
caused  his  heart  to  beat  like  a  hammer;  and  he  seemed 
to  see  the  horrible  eyes  of  the  monster  flaming  luridly 
out  of  the  darkness ;  but  still  the  silent  hours  went  by, 
unbroken  by  any  disturbance. 

Ha!  The  gloom  of  the  hollow  was  lightening — 
and  soon  the  rim  of  the  great  moon  peeped  over  the 
cliff  behind  him.  But  his  attention  was  rivetted  now 
upon  something  before  him — a  something,  huge  and 
black  and  shadowy — which  moved.  The  horror  was 
coming  over  the  ridge. 

It  came, — running  stealthily  a  few  yards, — then 
halting, — then  running  again.  It  passed  the  body  of 
its  last  victim,  and  came  running  on.  Laurence  stood 
transfixed,  spellbound,  with  loathing  and  repulsion, 
as  he  gazed  upon  the  huge  hairy  legs,  listening  to 
the  scraping  patter  of  the  claw-armed  extremities. 
But  he  had  no  doubt  now  as  to  its  intentions;  it  was 
coming  straight  for  him. 

It  stopped — within  a  bare  forty  yards,  and  now  as 
for  the  first  time,  he  got  a  clear  view  of  it  in  the  bright 
moonlight,  Laurence  felt  his  heart  fail  him  for  the  very 

309 


THE  SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

hideousness  of  the  beast.  It  had  the  head  of  a  devil, 
the  body  and  legs  of  a  spider,  and  the  black  hairy 
coat  of  a  bear;  and,  indeed,  it  was  nearly  as  large  as 
a  fair-sized  specimen  of  the  latter.  No,  it  was  no 
ordinary  thing,  this  fearsome  monster. 

It  advanced  a  little  nearer, — stopped  again, — then 
rushed  straight  at  him. 

Laurence  stepped  aside  just  in  time  to  ay,oid  the 
open  jaws,  but  too  late  entirely  to  escape  the  great 
flail-like  tentacle,  which  swept  him  from  his  feet,  right 
under  the  horror,  pinioning  for  a  moment  his  arms. 
Then,  by  a  tremendous  effort,  he  threw  himself  partly 
upwards.  The  horrible  nippers  descended — but  miss- 
ing his  throat — descended  to  his  chest,  and  met  there, 
with  a  metallic,  crunching  sound. 

Yet  he  was  unharmed.  Even  in  that  unspeakably 
awful  moment — crushed  in  the  wreathings  of  the  huge 
tentacles — the  frightful  head  and  devilish  eyes  of  the 
vampire  within  two  feet  of  his  own — he  realized  what 
had  happened.  Instead  of  penetrating  his  body,  the 
nippers  of  the  monster  had  struck  upon  the  metal  box. 
The  thought  nerved  him.  Wrenching  his  arm  partly 
free  beneath  the  horror,  he  sought  a  joint  in  the  horny 
armour,  and  drove  the  bone  dagger  into  its  body — 
drove  it  into  the  very  butt. 

Throwing  up  its  head  convulsively,  the  fearful 
creature  began  to  spin  round  and  round,  and  its 
would-be  victim  realized  somewhat  of  its  enormous 
muscular  strength,  for  wiry  and  in  hard  training  as 
he  was,  he  was  dragged  with  it,  rolled  over  and  over 
in  the  wreathings  of  the  black,  hairy  tentacles.  Was 

310 


THE  HORROR. 

he  being  dragged  off  to  its  den?  The  very  terror  of 
the  thought  nerved  him  once  more — revived  his  fast- 
failing  strength.  Drawing  forth  another  of  his  bone 
daggers,  he  plunged  it,  too,  deep  into  the  body  of  the 
beast. 

For  a  moment  the  sinewy,  struggling  tentacles 
relaxed,  and  just  that  moment  the  man  was  able  to 
seize,  or  he  had  been  lost.  With  a  violent  effort  he 
flung  himself  free,  and,  having  once  more  gained  his 
feet,— his  breath  coming  in  hard,  panting  gasps, — 
stood  awaiting  the  next  attack. 

Thus  they  stood,  a  strange  group  indeed,  in  the 
brilliant  moonlight:  The  man,  his  rudely  constructed 
mace  uplifted,  his  head  bent  forward,  a  lurid  glow  in 
his  eyes — the  glow  of  the  fell  fury  of  desperation;  the 
hideous  spider-devil — swaying  itself  on  its  horrible 
tentacles  as  though  for  another  spring  upon  its  in- 
tended victim.  Ha!  it  was  coming! 

The  man  stood  ready,  a  tightening  of  the  muscles 
of  the  arm  that  held  the  club,  a  lowering  of  the  brows. 
On  the  part  of  the  demon,  a  spasmodic  contraction. 
Again  it  came  at  him. 

Half  rearing  itself  from  the  ground,  its  feelers  wav- 
ing in  the  air  on  a  level  with  his  face,  propelling  itself 
slowly  forward,  as  though  to  make  sure  of  its  final 
rush,  emitting  the  while  a  kind  of  soft  breathing  hiss. 
The  aspect  of  the  creature  was  so  truly  fearful,  that 
the  man,  gazing  upon  it,  was  conscious  of  a  kind  of 
blasting  influence  stealing  over  him,  beginning  to 
paralyze  nerve  and  effort  alike — a  feeling  that  it  was 
useless  to  continue  the  struggle.  The  metal  box 

3" 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

could  not  save  him  twice.  Yet,  through  all,  was  the 
certainty  that  to  lose  nerve  for  one  moment  was  to 
lose  life. 

His  will-power  triumphed.  He  knew  that  did  he 
once  again  get  within  grip  of  those  ghastly  tentacles 
he  would  never  emerge  alive.  He  swung  up  his  im- 
provised mace;  the  creature  was  now  within  twelve 
yards  of  him.  He  hurled  the  club;  with  terrific  force 
it  cleft  the  air,  the  massive  band  of  gold  which  con- 
stituted its  head  lighting  full  upon  one  of  the  demon's 
eyes.  For  one  moment  the  horror  contracted  into  a 
heaving,  writhing  heap,  frightful  to  behold,  then, 
throwing  out  its  grisly  tentacles,  it  spun  round  and 
round  as  it  had  done  before.  The  man's  heart  was 
beating  as  though  it  would  burst.  Was  the  thing 
slain,  or  in  its  vampire  tenacity  of  life  would  it  renew 
the  combat?  Ha! — was  it  coming  again?  Was  it? 
One  moment  of  the  most  unutterable  suspense,  and 
then — and  then — the  fearful  thing  drew  back,  turned 
round,  and  shoggled  away  in  the  direction  whence  it 
had  come.  It  was  worsted. 

Save  for  a  few  scratches,  Laurence  was  unhurt.  He 
had  almost  miraculously  escaped  the  creature's  nip- 
pers. Yet  now  that  he  had  won  his  hard-fought  vic- 
tory, a  sort  of  rage  took  possession  of  him,  an  impulse 
to  follow  it  up,  to  destroy  this  fell  horror  utterly. 
Growling  a  savage  curse,  he  started  in  pursuit  of  the 
retreating  monster,  but  hardly  had  he  taken  two  steps 
forward  than  there  floated  to  his  ear  a  sound — a  voice 
which  seemed  to  fall  from  the  sky  itself.  He  stopped 
short  in  his  tracks  and  stood  immovable,  statuesque, 
listening. 

312 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
"  ONLY  A  SAVAGE!" 

"NYONYOBA!" 

Clear,  distinct,  the  name  sounded,  floating  down 
from  above. 

"What  the  devil  is  that?"  was  the  characteristic 
exclamation  that  burst  from  Laurence — and  there  was 
something  of  a  quaver  in  the  tone.  For  his  nerves 
were  quite  overstrung,  and  no  manifestation  of  things 
unknown  would  have  surprised  him  now. 

"  Nyonyoba!  Ho,  Nyonyoba!"  again  called  the 
voice  in  soft,  rich  Zulu  tones,  low  but  penetrating. 
"  Move  now  some  thirty  paces  to  where  the  cliff  juts. 
There  is  that  by  which  you  may  return  to  earth  again 
— and  the  Spider  may  go  hungry." 

"  The  Spider  has  got  enough  to  fill  him  up  for  some 
long  time,"  answered  Laurence,  with  excusable  pride. 
"  But  who  speaks? — The  voice  is  like  that  of  Lin- 
dela." 

"  It  is  that  of  Lindela,"  came  the  soft-toned  reply. 
"  Climb  now,  and  tarry  not.  I  see  the  Spider.  Climb 
before  it  is  too  late." 

With  all  his  elation,  now  that  the  first  flush  of 
victory  was  over,  Laurence  could  not  recall  without 
a  shiver  the  grasp  of  those  horrible  tentacles,  the  fiend- 
like  glare  of  that  dreadful  face.  He  vastly  preferred 
flight  to  renewed  fight,  now. 

313 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

Following  the  voice,  he  came  to  the  point  indicated. 
A  rope  of  twisted  raw-hide  thong  lay  against  the 
rock.  His  heart  leaped  within  him.  Soon  he  would 
be  free  from  this  fearful  place.  The  cliff  here  formed 
a  projecting  angle,  all  jagged  like  the  teeth  of  a  saw. 
He  remembered  noticing  this,  remembered  balancing 
its  capabilities  of  forming  a  natural  ladder.  He  had 
even  climbed  a  few  steps,  and  then  had  been  forced 
to  own  that  it  was  impracticable.  Now,  however, 
with  the  aid  of  the  raw-hide  rope,  the  thing  could  be 
done — done  with  comparative  ease. 

As  a  preliminary  he  stepped  back,  and,  gazing  up- 
wards, went  over  the  climb  in  his  mind,  carefully 
noting  every  step,  every  handhold.  The  cliff  was 
terrace  here,  and  the  nearest  resting-place,  whence, 
indeed,  the  rope  hung,  he  estimated  to  be  about  sixty 
feet.  Without  this  aid,  however,  it  might  as  well  have 
been  sixty  hundred. 

Seizing  the  rope  he  began  his  ascent,  the  mace  and 
the  remainder  of  his  bone  daggers  still  slung  around 
him.  The  task  was  more  difficult  than  it  looked. 
Contact,  often  sudden  and  violent,  with  the  rock  face 
bruised  his  knuckles,  inflicting  excruciating  pain,  once 
indeed  so  as  to  turn  him  sick  and  faint.  But  a  glance 
down  into  the  grisly  hollow,  as  he  hung  thus  sus- 
pended by  a  thread — the  glint  of  the  white  skeletons 
in  the  moonlight,  and,  above  all,  the  vague,  shadowy 
outline,  black  and  frightful,  of  the  horror,  which  still 
lingered  outside  its  den,  as  though  meditating  return 
— nerved  him  once  more.  What  if  he  were  to  fall, 
maimed,  battered,  helpless — would  not  the  frightful 
thing  hold  him  entirely  at  its  mercy,  and  return  and 

314 


"ONLY  A  SAVAGE!" 

drain  his  life-blood  at  its  pleasure?  Summoning  all  his 
will-power,  all  his  strength,  he  resumed  his  climb,  and 
soon  a  firm,  resolute  hand,  grasping  his,  drew  him  up 
for  the  time  being  into  safety;  for  they  were  on  a 
ledge. 

"  Rest  now,  beloved,"  said  the  chief's  daughter 
softly,  as  she  turned  to  draw  up  the  rope.  "  I  have 
saved  thee  so  far." 

"  But — to  what  end,  Lindela?  Did  you  not  fling  a 
stick  at  me,  and  strike  me  hard?  See,  I  am  bruised 
with  it  yet.  It  has  even  hindered  my  climbing  powers. 
That  is  a  strange  way  of  showing  love." 

"  But  is  this  a  stranger  way?  "  said  the  girl  sadly, 
displaying  the  rope  she  had  just  drawn  up.  "  See 
now.  They  suspected  me,  as  it  was.  Had  I  not 
shown  myself  the  first  and  the  fiercest  to  turn  against 
you,  should  I  have  been  here  now?  But  come,  we  are 
not  yet  in  safety.  When  we  are  it  will  be  time  enough 
for  talk,  and  for — love." 

She  led  the  way  to  a  steep,  narrow  cranny.  Up 
this  they  climbed  some  fifty  feet  without  difficulty, 
emerging  upon  another  terrace.  Here  another  rope 
hung  from  the  cliff  above,  about  the  same  height. 

"  Go  first,  Nyonyoba,  while  I  hold  the  rope  to 
steady  it,"  said  the  girl.  "  Then,  too,  if  your  strength 
should  give  way,  perhaps  I  may  catch  you  and  break 
your  fall.  I  am  as  strong  as  any  of  the  women  of  the 
Ba-gcatya — and  that  is  saying  much." 

For  answer,  Laurence  uttered  a  derisive  laugh. 
But  there  must  have  been  that  in  its  tone  which 
pleased  the  chief's  daughter,  for  she  repeated  the 
request,  more  softly,  more  entreatingly, 

315 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

"  See  now,  Lindela,"  he  answered,  placing  a  hand 
on  each  of  the  shapely  shoulders,  which  glistened 
light  bronze  in  the  moonlight.  "  You  don't  know  me 
yet  if  you  think  I  will  leave  the/ post  of  danger  to  you. 
Obey  me  instantly.  Go  first  up  that  rope,  or  I  return 
and  do  combat  once  more  with  the  Spider." 

"  Once  more?  Have  you  then — actually  fought 
with  that — with  that  which  is  down  there?"  And 
her  eyes  were  round  with  amazement. 

"  I  have,  and  the  thing  has  two  of  these  sticking  in 
it  to  their  full  length,"  showing  the  bone  daggers. 
"  I  have  a  recollection,  too,  of  smiting  hard  with  this 
noble  knob-stick,  but  it  was  like  smiting  the  hardest 
kind  of  tortoise  shell.  Not  yet,  however,  is  the  time 
to  talk.  Go  first,  Lindela— go  first." 

She  obeyed  him  now  without  further  demur,  and 
soon  he  had  joined  her,  for  this  climb  was  neither  so 
long  nor  so  difficult  as  the  first. 

Laurence  now  saw  that  they  were  high  up  on  a 
mountain  top.  Great  peaks,  some  snow-capped, 
towered  aloft — and  far  away  beneath  stretched  a 
billowy  expanse  of  country,  dim,  misty  in  the  moon- 
light. The  air  was  keen  and  chill,  and  with  something 
of  a  shiver  Lindela  resumed  her  light  upper  covering, 
which  she  had  laid  aside  in  order  to  give  full  freedom 
to  body  and  limbs. 

"  And  you  have  met  and  fought  with  that,"  she 
began,  pointing  downwards,  "  and  are  still  alive? 
Why,  Nyonyoba,  you  have  done  that  which  no  man 
has  ever  done  before.  How  did  you  do  it?  With 
the  bones  of  dead  men?  Ha!  you  are  indeed  great, 
Nyonyoba,  great  indeed.  Yet — what  a  thought !  " 

310 


"ONLY  A  SAVAGE!" 

"  A  good  thought  truly.  Still,  had  it  occurred  to 
those  who  went  before  me  they  might  have  done  the 
same.  Yet  not — for  there  was  another  force  that 
saved  me  which  they  lacked." 

"Ha!  another  force?" 

"  Yes,  the  Sign  of  the  Spider.  The  Spider  itself  was 
powerless  against  that." 

He  drew  forth  the  metal  box,  and  for  the  first  time 
examined  it.  By  the  light  of  the  moon  he  could  dis- 
cern two  slight  dents;  one  upon  the  border  of  the 
quaint  sprawling  initials,  where  the  nippers  of  the 
monster  had  struck.  For  the  moment  he  forgot 
Lindela,  forgot  the  surroundings,  forgot  where  he 
was,  remembering  only  Lilith.  Three  times  had 
Lilith's  love  interposed  between  him  and  certain  death 
— three  times  most  unequivocally.  And  this  third 
time,  from  what  unutterably  horrible  form  of  death! 
Those  poisoned  fangs.  The  very  thought  made  him 
shudder. 

"  You  are  cold,  beloved.  See,  here  are  coverings. 
I  have  thought  of  everything." 

The  voice,  the  touch  upon  his  arm,  recalled  him  to 
himself.  If  the  love  of  the  one  woman  had  stood 
between  him  and  death — no  less  had  that  of  the  other 
borne  its  part.  And  this  other  now  stood  before  him, 
soft-eyed,  pleading;  grand  in  her  statuesque  and 
perfect  proportions,  in  her  splendid  strength  and 
courage — that  strength  and  courage  which  had  nerved 
her  to  set  aside  the  most  awesome  traditions  of  her 
race,  to  brave  its  gloomy  superstitions,  to  venture 
alone  and  unaided  into  the  haunt  of  mysterious  terror, 
for  love  of  this  stranger  and  alien.  This,  too,  was  the 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

sublimity  of  love  in  all  of  its  indomitable  quenchless- 
ness.  And  she  who  gave  so  freely,  who  gave  all, 
indeed,  of  this  rich,  this  inestimable  gift  was — only 
a  savage! 

Only  a  savage!  It  is  probable  that  some  of  the 
most  golden-lined,  well-nigh  divine  phases  of  mind 
that  ever  had  dawned  upon  him  in  his  life  were  shed 
over  Laurence  Stanninghame  then,  as  he  stood  upon 
that  lofty  mountain  top  at  midnight  in  the  flooding 
light  of  the  moon,  his  gaze  meeting  the  sweet  respon- 
sive one  from  the  wide  opened  eyes  of  this — savage. 

"  Say,  Nyonyoba!"  and  the  voice  was  full  and 
rich, — "  say,  Nyonyoba,  what  will  you  give  me  if  I 
show  you  that  which  will  delight  your  eyes?  Will  you 
love  me  very  much — very  much?"  and  the  soft 
musical  Zulu  word  Ka-kulu  thus  repeated  was  as  a 
caress  in  itself.  "  Well  then,  come." 

She  led  the  way  a  few  yards,  then  halted.  A  bundle 
lay  upon  the  ground,  and  this  Lindela  proceeded  to 
undo.  It  consisted  of  a  couple  of  strong  native 
blankets,  inclosing  several  round  baskets  of  woven 
grass  similar  to  those  which  had  contained  the  food 
which  had  been  let  down  in  cruel  mercy  into  the  place 
of  the  horror  by  the  mysterious  hands  which  had 
lowered  himself.  But  that  upon  which  Laurence's 
eyes  rested,  upon  which  he  almost  pounced,  was  a 
short  carbine  and  a  well-stocked  cartridge-belt.  It 
was  a  vastly  inferior  weapon  to  his  own  trusty  "  Ex- 
press," but  still  it  was  a  firearm. 

"  That  is  not  all,"  cried  the  girl,  laughing  gleefully. 
"  See  this." 

She  thrust  another  bundle  into  his  hands.  Almost 
318 


"ONLY  A   SAVAGE!" 

trembling  he  opened  it.  A  revolver — his  own;  also 
another  of  smaller  calibre.  And  with  both  was  a 
quantity  of  ammunition.  As  he  seized  these,  he 
realized  that  he  would  have  given  half  his  diamonds, 
up  till  then  well-nigh  forgotten,  for  just  such  an 
armoury.  Now  he  felt  equal  to  anything,  to  anybody. 
He  was  once  more  the  dominant  animal,  an  armed 
man — nay,  more — a  well-armed  man. 

"Ha! — now  you  are  once  more  as  you  ought  to 
be,"  cried  Lindela,  gleefully  clapping  her  hands  to- 
gether. "  You  who  are  stronger  than — that  which  is 
down  there,"  falling  into  the  Zulu  custom  of  refraining 
directly  to  mention  that  which  is  held  in  awe.  "  With- 
out weapons.  What  are  you  now  with  them?  Great 
— great!  To  defeat  the  Spider — armed  only  with  the 
bones  of  men.  Whan!  That  was  great  indeed — 
magnificent!  " 

"  Yet  I  think  I  will  silence  forever  that  horror," 
said  Laurence,  stepping  to  the  brink  of  the  cliff  and 
peering  down  into  the  awful  hollow.  "  Yes,  there  the 
beast  is;  I  will  risk  a  long  shot,"  and  he  sighted  the 
carbine. 

But  in  a  moment  Lindela's  arms  were  around  him, 
pinioning  his  to  his  sides. 

"  Not  so,  beloved,"  she  whispered  earnestly.  "  Not 
so;  the  Black  Ones  who  wait  on  the  Spider  frequently 
come  to  look  down  into  his  haunt,  even  when  they  do 
not  bring  offerings  of  men.  If  they  find  him  slain 
they  will  know  you  have  escaped,  and  will  pursue; 
for  which  reason  it  is  well — well,  indeed,  that  you  did 
not  quite  slay  him  with  those  marvellous  weapons, 
the  bones  of  men,  Further,  they  might  hear  the 

3*9 


THE    SIGN    OF   THE   SPIDER. 

sound  of  the  fire-weapon,  and  know  where  to  find  us. 
Come,  we  have  far  to  travel." 

This  was  unanswerable.  Laurence  stood  for  a  few 
moments  gazing  down  into  the  fearsome  place  which 
held  this  shuddering  mystery.  Was  it  real?  Was  he 
dreaming?  Were  those  hours  of  terror  and  despair 
spent  down  there  but  some  gigantic  nightmare?  He 
passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes — then  looked  again. 
The  thing  was  real.  But  now  he  could  no  longer  see 
the  horrid  shape — black  and  grisly.  The  creature 
must  have  withdrawn  into  its  ghastly  den — to  die. 
The  wounds  which  he  had  inflicted  upon  it  were 
surely  too  deep,  too  strongly  dealt,  to  be  aught  but 
mortal.  The  Spider  would  no  more  drink  the  blood 
— feed  on  the  flesh  of  men.  Then  he  turned  to  follow 
Lindela. 

The  latter  had  already  loaded  herself  with  the  bundle 
of  wraps  and  provisions.  To  his  suggestion  that  they 
should,  at  any  rate,  halve  the  load,  Lindela  laughed  in 
scorn. 

"  A  man's  work  is  to  carry  his  weapons,  and,  when 
needed,  use  them,"  she  answered.  "  To  bear  loads — 
and  this  is  a  light  one  indeed — is  woman's  work — not 
work  for  one  who  has  proved  too  great  even  for  the 
Spider." 

Then,  as  they  travelled  down  the  mountain  side  in 
the  fresh  cool  night  air,  she  told  him  of  all  that  had 
befallen  since  he  had  been  hauled  to  his  mysterious  and 
awful  doom.  The  thoughtless  act  of  Holmes  had 
necessitated  the  destruction  of  Nondwana's  kraal  there 
and  then;  and,  indeed,  the  king's  brother  was  more 
than  dissatisfied  with  the  clemency  extended  to  the 

320 


"ONLY  A   SAVAGE!" 

other  two  white  men.  But  the  word  of  Tyisandhlu, 
once  given,  stood.  They  had  been  sent  out  of  the 
country  under  a  strong  armed  escort,  which  was  under 
orders  to  conduct  them  to  the  great  town  of  an  Arab 
chief,  with  whom  El  Khanac  had  blood  brotherhood. 
How  had  she  found  out  the  mystery  of  the  Spider? 
Was  it  known  to  all  the  nation?  It  was  known  to  very 
few,  she  explained.  The  Black  ones  who  waited 
upon  the  Spider  were  a  mysterious  order — so  mys- 
terious, indeed,  that  none  knew  exactly  who  were 
members  of  it  and  who  were  not.  Nor  could  she  tell 
how  the  strange  and  gruesome  cult  first  originated, 
save  that  it  was  dimly  whispered  that  the  Ba-gcatya 
had  taken  it  over  from  the  nation  they  had  driven 
out,  and  that  in  accordance  with  an  ancient  prophecy 
uttered  by  a  famous  magician  at  the  time  of  their 
flight  from  Zululand.  But  as  she  told  of  her  resolve 
to  rescue  him  at  all  risks,  even  so  long  ago  as  when, 
by  overhearing  her  father's  talk,  she  learned  that  this 
doom  was  to  be  his  in  any  case,  Laurence  felt  himself 
grow  strangely  soft  towards  her.  Savage  or  not, 
Nondwana's  daughter  was  a  splendid  character  in  the 
whole-hearted  devotion  of  her  love ;  heroic  was  hardly 
the  word  for  it.  And  as  she  went  on  to  tell  how  she 
had  devoted  herself  entirely  to  finding  out  the  locality 
of  the  dreaded  spot,  learning  the  way  to  it  by  stealth- 
ily following  on  the  footsteps  of  that  grim  order  when 
it  was  actually  engaged  in  conveying  thither  another 
human  victim,  risking  her  life  at  every  step, — and  not 
her  life  merely,  but  incurring  the  certainty  of  the  same 
fearful  doom  in  the  event  of  discovery, — telling  it, 
too,  in  the  most  simple  way,  and  as  though  the  act 

321 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

were  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world,  Laurence 
realized  that  he  might  have  done  worse  than  throw  in 
his  lot  with  this  loftily  descended  daughter  of  a  splen- 
did race  of  kingly  barbarians,  had  circumstances  been 
ordered  otherwise. 

But  even  while  thus  listening,  while  thus  thinking, 
another  vein  of  thought  was  running  parallel  in  his 
mind.  Those  insignificant-looking  stones,  which  he 
had  picked  up  down  there,  represented  wealth — ample 
wealth;  and  with  it  had  come  a  feverish  longing  to 
enjoy  the  comforts,  the  pleasures,  the  delights  which 
civilization  afforded  to  those  who  possessed  it.  Yet, 
his  entering  upon  such  enjoyment,  if  it  were  ever 
effected, — as  at  that  moment  it  seemed  in  a  fair  way 
to  be, — he  owed  to  Lindela.  What  was  to  become  of 
her,  for  she  could  never  return  to  her  nation?  She 
had  thrown  away  everything,  this  high-born  daugh- 
ter of  a  race  of  kings ;  had  risked  her  life  daily,  to  save 
the  life  of  a  stranger — and  that  for  love.  Yes,  that 
was  love  indeed!  he  thought.  She  was  a  brown- 
skinned  savage,  but  she  was  a  splendid  woman — with 
mind  and  character  as  noble  as  her  own  magnificent 
physique.  She  would  be  a  delightful,  a  perfect  com- 
panion during  those  wild,  free  forest  marches — day 
after  day,  night  after  night,  fraught  with  peril  and 
hardship  at  every  step,  but — how  would  civilization 
affect  her?  Would  it  not  ruin  that  grand  character, 
even  as  it  had  ruined  really  noble  natures  before  her, 
— for  there  is  such  a  thing  as  the  "  noble  savage," 
although  we  grant  the  product  to  be  a  scarce  one. 
And  with  all  this  was  entwined  the  thought  of  Lilith 
Ormskirk. 

322 


"ONLY  A  SAVAGE!" 

Well,  sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof,  had 
always  been  his  guiding  maxim,  and  for  the  present, 
as  he  took  his  way  down  the  mountain  side — the  great 
crags  rising  higher  and  higher  to  the  moon,  the  black 
billowy  roll  of  the  forest  country  drawing  nearer  and 
nearer,  the  voices  of  the  wild  creatures  of  the  waste, 
raised  weird  and  ravening  on  the  night,  the  thunder- 
ous boom  of  the  voice  of  the  forest  king  ever  and  anon 
dominating  all  others — Laurence  felt  conscious  of  a 
wild,  exhilarating  sense  of  freedom.  There  was  music 
in  these  sounds  after  the  ghastly,  awed  silence  of  the 
horrible  place  from  which  he  had  been  delivered. 
And,  was  it  due  on  his  part  to  the  frame  of  mind  of  the 
hardened  adventurer,  trained  to  take  things  as  they 
come,  the  good  with  the  ill — but  never,  during  the 
days  and  weeks  that  followed,  did  the  daughter  of  the 
line  of  the  Ba-gcatya  kings  feel  moved  to  any  qualm 
of  regret  over  the  sacrifice  of  name  and  home  and 
country  which  she  had  made  for  this  man's  sake. 


323 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

"  A    DEEP — A    SOLITARY   GRAVE." 

THEY  were  now  on  the  other  slope  of  the  great 
mountain  chain  which  shut  in  the  Ba-gcatya  country 
on  that  side,  and,  judging  by  the  landmarks,  it  seemed 
to  Laurence  that  the  surroundings  wore  an  aspect  not 
absolutely  unfamiliar,  and  that  they  could  not  be  far 
out  of  the  way  by  which  he  had  been  brought  in  a 
captive.  There  was  the  same  broad  belt  of  desolate 
land  which  took  many  days  to  traverse — a  land  of 
gloomy  forest  and  sluggish  river,  reed-fringed,  croco- 
dile-haunted;  and  night  after  night  they  would  build 
their  camp-fire,  resting  secure  in  the  red  circle  of  its 
cheery  flame — while  the  howling  of  ravening  beasts 
kept  up  dismal  chorus  in  the  outer  darkness  beyond. 
It  was  a  primeval  idyll,  the  wandering  of  these  two — 
the  man,  the  product  of  the  highest  fin-de-siecle  civili- 
zation; the  woman,  the  daughter  of  a  savage  race. 
Yet  in  such  wandering,  savage  and  civilized  were 
curiously  near  akin.  They  were  free  as  air — untram- 
melled by  any  conventionality  or  artificial  needs.  The 
land  furnished  ample  subsistence,  animal  and  vege- 
table. The  wild  game  which  supplied  them  with  food 
could  not  have  been  more  free. 

"  Would  you  rather  have  been  rescued  some  other 
way,  Nyonyoba?  "  said  the  girl  one  evening,  as  they 
were  sitting  by  the  camp-fire. 

324 


"A   DEEP— A  SOLITARY  GRAVE.0 

"  No.  There  is  no  other  way  I  should  have  pre- 
ferred. See  now,  Lindela.  What  if  we  were  to  re- 
turn to  your  people?  Surely  they  would  believe  now 
in  the  Sign  of  the  Spider — and  that  the  conqueror  is 
greater  than  the  conquered?  " 

"  Not  so,"  she  answered,  and  her  eyes,  which  had 
brightened  at  the  first  words  of  his  reply,  became 
clouded  and  sad.  "  They  would  put  us  to  death  now 
— both  of  us.  But  were  it  otherwise — would  you 
really  desire  to  return?" 

"  One  might  do  worse.  I  don't  know  that  the 
blessings  of  civilization  are  such  blessings  after  all, 
which  to  you  is  a  riddle." 

He  relapsed  into  silence  and  thought.  There  were 
times  when,  with  the  riches  upon  him,  he  was  con- 
sumed with  a  perfectly  feverish  longing  to  return  to 
civilization.  There  were  other  times,  again,  when  he 
looked  back  with  more  than  a  lingering  regret  to  the 
pleasant  land  of  the  Ba-gcatya.  Furthermore,  Lindela 
had  entwined  herself  around  his  heart  more  than  he 
knew.  Not  an  atom  of  the  intrepidity  of  devotion 
she  had  displayed  in  order  to  compass  his  final  rescue 
was  thrown  away  upon  him — any  more  than  her  de- 
portment since.  Through  the  toilsomeness  and  peril 
of  their  journeying  no  word  of  complaint  or  de- 
spondency escaped  her.  She  was  always  sunny- 
natured,  cheerful,  self-sacrificing,  resourceful — in 
short,  a  delightful  companion.  Yet — she  was  a 
savage,  he  thought,  with  a  curl  of  the  lip,  as  before 
his  mind's  eye  arose  the  contrast  between  her  and  her 
civilized  sisters,  with  their  artificiality  and  moods 
and  caprices,  and  petty  spites  and  fictitious  ailments, 

325 


THE  SIGN   OF  THE  SPIDER. 

and  general  contentiousness  all  around.  It  was  by 
no  means  certain  he  would  not  have  returned  to  dwell 
with  her  among  her  own  people,  had  that  course  been 
open — but  it  was  not.  Only  the  return  to  civilization 
lay  before  him;  and  what  to  do  with  Lindela — for 
he  had  not  the  slightest  desire  to  part  with  her. 

Meanwhile  they  had  reached  the  perilous  phase  of 
their  wanderings.  Ruins  of  multitudinous  villages  lay 
in  their  path  at  every  turn,  but,  what  was  worse,  signs 
of  human  occupation  began  to  show  once  more,  and 
human  occupation  meant  hostile  occupation.  It  was 
fortunate  that  the  land  had  been  doubly  raided — by 
the  slave-hunters  and  the  Ba-gcatya — because  in  its 
depopulation  lay  their  safety.  But  those  who  had 
escaped  would  not  be  likely  to  view  with  any  friendly 
glance  a  representative  of  each  despoiling  factor,  as 
exemplified  in  these  two.  So  they  avoided  villages, 
which  was  easy  enough  by  careful  observation  ahead. 
What  was  less  easy,  however,  was  to  avoid  wandering 
parties. 

Nor  was  it  always  practicable.  Once  they  came 
right  into  such  a  horde — near  enough,  that  is,  for  their 
presence  to  be  discovered,  and  for  a  whole  day  were 
they  stealthily  followed,  their  pursuers  only  drawing 
off  owing  to  nightfall  and  the  proximity  of  other  tribes 
hostile  to  themselves.  Another  time  they  nearly 
walked  into  the  midst  of  an  encampment  while  a  can- 
nibal feast  was  in  progress.  At  sight  of  the  human 
limbs  hung  up,  the  filed  teeth  and  tattooed  faces  of 
these  savages  tearing  at  their  horrible  repast,  Lindela 
shuddered  with  repulsion  and  anger. 

"  See  there,  Nyonyoba,"  she  said,  when  they  had 
326 


"A   DEEP— A   SOLITARY   GRAVE." 

withdrawn  beyond  hearing,  "  do  not  the  Ba-gcatya 
act  rightly  in  stamping  out  these  foul  Izima — who  de- 
vour the  flesh  of  their  own  kindred,  like  wild  dogs?  " 

"  I  think  so.  And  we,  who  capture  them  to  sell 
them,  do  we  not  send  them  to  a  better  fate,  where  they 
can  no  more  indulge  in  such  repellent  appetites? " 
And  this  she  did  not  attempt  to  gainsay. 

For  months  they  journeyed  on  thus,  peril  their  com- 
panion at  every  step,  the  more  so  as  they  gained  the 
more  inhabited  tracts.  Once  they  fell  in  with  a  petty 
Arab  chief  and  his  following.  This  man  was  known 
to  Laurence,  and  treated  them  well  and  hospitably 
while  they  remained  at  his  camp.  But  before  they 
departed  he  said: 

"  What  sum  will  purchase  this  girl,  my  friend,  for 
by  now  thou  must  have  had  enough  of  her?  She 
would  fetch  large  money  at  Khartoum,  whither  I  can 
forward  her,  and  I  will  deal  with  thee  fairly.  Yes, 
Allah  is  great.  I  will  only  make  my  profit  on  her. 
The  price  shall  be  liberal." 

Then  Laurence  Stanninghame,  the  renegade,  the 
man  who  had  thrown  all  considerations  of  duty  and 
feeling  to  the  winds  as  so  much  lumber,  so  much 
meaningless  conventionality,  felt  as  shocked  and  dis- 
gusted as  ever  he  could  have  done  in  his  most  foolish 
days,  what  time  illusions  were  as  vivid,  as  golden  as 
ever.  But,  remembering  himself,  he  replied  in  an 
even  tone: 

"  No  sum  will  purchase  her,  Rahman  ben  Zuhdi. 
Were  I  dying  at  this  moment,  and  large  wealth  could 
bring  me  fifty  years  more  of  life,  I  would  not  sell  her. 
All  that  the  world  contains  could  not  purchase  her, 

327 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

for  she  has  restored  me  to  life  at  the  peril  of  her  own, 
again  and  again, — nay,  more,  has  restored  me  to  that 
which  alone  renders  life  a  possession  of  any  value.  I 
have  dealt  in  slaves,  but  this  is  a  daughter  of  a  race 
of  kings. 

"  The  People  of  the  Spider/'  said  the  Arab  thought- 
fully, flashing  a  curious  glance  at  Lindela,  who  stood 
some  little  way  apart.  "  They  grow  their  women  fine 
if  they  are  all  as  this  one.  Well,  I  did  but  make  thee 
the  offer,  my  brother;  but  if  a  man  values  anything 
above  gold,  all  the  gold  in  the  world  will  not  induce 
him  to  part  therewith.  Fare  thee  well.  We  part 
friends." 

"  As  friends  indeed  do  we  part,  O  Rahman,"  replied 
Laurence.  And  they  resumed  their  respective  ways. 

As  time  went  on,  Lindela's  manner  seemed  to 
undergo  a  change — her  spirits  to  flag.  Was  it  the 
fearful  malarial  heat  of  the  low-lying  forest  country, 
often  swampy,  which  was  affecting  her?  thought  Lau- 
rence with  concern.  He  himself  was  inured  to  it, 
but  this  daughter  of  a  healthy  upland  race,  accus- 
tomed to  the  breezy,  equable  climate  of  her  mountain 
home — on  her  the  steaming  heat  of  the  rotting  vege- 
tation and  marshy  soil  might  conceivably  be  beginning 
to  tell. 

They  were  resting  one  day  during  the  noontide 
heat.  No  burning  rays  from  the  outside  sun  could 
scorch  here,  for  the  place  was  dim  with  thick  foliage 
and  creepers  trailing  from  the  limbs  of  great  forest 
trees.  Both  had  fallen  asleep. 

Suddenly  Lindela  started  up.  A  sharp  wringing 
pain,  seeming  to  begin  on  the  left  shoulder,  went 

328 


"A   DEEP— A   SOLITARY  GRAVE." 

through  her  frame.  It  spread — down  her  arm — then 
through  to  the  other  shoulder — down  the  other  arm. 
What  was  it?  A  cramp  caught  from  the  treacherous 
chill  of  the  humid  soil?  Perhaps.  Well,  it  would 
soon  pass.  Then  Laurence  began  to  stir  in  his  sleep. 
The  sight  made  her  forget  her  pain.  He  must  not 
awaken ;  he  needed  rest.  Noiselessly  plucking  a  leafy 
branch  she  went  over  to  him  and  began  softly  to  fan 
him.  This  was  effective.  His  even,  regular  breath- 
ing told  that  he  slumbered  peacefully,  restfully,  once 
more. 

Soon  she  became  aware  that  her  powers  were  failing 
her.  Her  arm  seemed  to  become  cramped,  paralyzed, 
and  a  mist  floated  before  her  eyes.  What  did  it  mean? 
Her  lips  opened  to  call  aloud — then  closed,  uttering 
no  sound.  \Vhy  should  he  be  disturbed  because  she 
was  suffering  a  little  pain?  thought  this  savage — this 
daughter  of  a  race  of  savage  kings. 

But  the  mist  deepened  before  her  failing  vision. 
She  swayed  where  she  sat,  then  fell  heavily  forward — 
upon  him — the  branch  wherewith  she  had  been  fan- 
ning him  striking  him  sharply  across  the  face. 

Laurence  sprang  to  his  feet,  unconsciously  throwing 
her  from  him.  His  first  impression  was  that  he  had 
been  surprised  in  his  sleep  by  an  enemy. 

"  Lindela!  What  is  it?"  he  cried,  raising  her  up 
and  supporting  her.  And  then  his  dark  face  turned  a 
livid  ashen  white — for  with  the  dull  stupor  which  lay 
heavy  in  the  usually  bright  eyes,  his  own  had  rested 
upon  something  else.  The  shapely  shoulder  was 
swollen  to  an  abnormal  size,  and  at  the  back  of  it  were 
two  small  round  punctures. 

329 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

"  She  has  been  bitten.  A  snake,  of  course/'  he 
muttered.  "  And  it  is  too  late." 

"  Yes,  it  is  too  late,  Nyonyoba,"  she  murmured. 
"  Yet  I  do  not  think  I  have  been  bitten — not  by  a 
snake,  or  I  should  have  known  it." 

"  But  you  have  been.  When  was  this?  Why  did 
you  not  awaken  me?"  And  his  voice  startled  even 
himself,  so  fierce  was  it  in  its  grief. 

"  Why  should  I  awaken  you,  beloved,  you  who 
needed  rest?"  she  murmured,  groping  for  his  hand. 
"  Yes,  it  is  too  late.  It  was  some  time  ago.  I  thought 
it  was  a  cramp,  but  I  must  have  been  bitten." 

Laurence  was  thinking — and  thinking  hard.  What 
remedy  was  there?  None.  It  was  even  as  she  had 
said — too  late.  The  poison  had  penetrated  her  whole 
system. 

"  I  am  dying,  beloved — and  shall  soon  go  into  the 

Dark  Unknown "  she  murmured,  more  drowsily 

than  before.  "  Yet  it  matters  nothing,  for  those  of  our 
nation  do  not  fear  death.  And  listen.  I  heard  the 
Arab's  proposal  to  you,  and  your  answer  thereto — 
yet,  when  you  returned  to  your  people,  what  would 
have  become  of  me?  " 

She  was  but  voicing  his  own  thoughts  of  many 
and  many  a  time  before.  Yet  now  Laurence  felt 
almost  startled.  Was  it  the  clear  intuition  which 
rightly  or  wrongly  is  believed  to  accompany  the  hour 
of  dissolution?  Then  he  remembered  she  could  have 
learned  much  about  civilized  peoples  through  the  talk 
of  Tyisandhlu  and  her  father. 

"  I  die,  beloved,  but  I  welcome  death,"  she  went  on, 
— "  for  I  have  lived — ah,  yes,  I  have  lived.  I  feel  no 

330 


"A   DEEP— A  SOLITARY   GRAVE." 

pain  now,  and  I  die  in  your  arms.  Surely  my  itongo* 
will  not  weep  mournfully  on  the  voices  of  the  night 
as  others  do;  surely  it  will  laugh  for  very  joy,  for  very 
love,  because  of  this  my  end,  until  time  shall  die — 
will  it  not,  Nyonyoba,  my  beloved?  Say — will  it 
not?" 

But  Laurence  could  not  say  anything,  for,  lo — a 
marvel.  This  man,  deadened  for  long  years  to  feeling 
or  ruth;  this  coldly  pitiless  trafficker  in  the  sufferings 
of  human  beings;  in  whose  cynical  creed  now  such 
a  love  as  that  of  this  savage  girl  held  no  place — felt 
now  as  though  a  hand  were  gripping  him  by  the 
throat,  choking  all  power  of  reply.  And  the  call  of 
birds,  high  among  the  tree-tops,  alone  broke  the 
silence,  in  the  semi-gloom  of  the  forest  aisles. 

Lindela's  voice  had  sunk  until  it  was  well-nigh  in- 
audible, and  Laurence  was  constrained  to  bend  his 
head  to  hers  in  order  to  catch  her  every  word.  Then 
— a  flash  of  gladness  seemed  momentarily  to  light  up 
the  drowsy  eyes/ and  she  spoke  no  more.  Her  eye- 
lids closed,  her  breathing  grew  fainter  and  fainter, 
and  soon  Laurence  knew  that  that  which  lay  heavy 
within  his  arms  was  no  longer  a  living  woman.  Lin- 
dela  had  passed. 

For  long  he  sat  thus.  Then  a  faint  rustling  sound 
in  the  dry  wood  of  an  immense  fallen  tree-trunk 
caught  his  ear.  Ha! — the  snake  which  had  been  the 
cause  of  her  death!  It,  at  any  rate,  should  die. 
Gently  he  laid  her  down,  then  snatching  up  a  stick 
which  had  been  used  to  carry  one  of  the  loads  he  ad- 
vanced towards  the  sound. 

*  Tutelary  spirit. 
331 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

Something  was  struggling  among  the  dry  bark; 
with  the  stick  he  broke  this  away.  There  fell  out  an 
enormous  spider. 

He  started  back  in  horror  and  loathing.  The  hairy 
monster  brought  back  too  gruesome  a  reminiscence. 
Then  he  noticed  that  it  looked  as  if  it  had  received 
injury  through  crushing,  two  or  three  of  the  hideous 
tentacles  being  partially  or  wholly  broken  off. 

Then,  as  he  gazed  with  loathing  upon  the  sprawling 
thing,  it  seemed  that  the  missing  link  was  supplied. 
Lindela,  in  her  sleep,  must  have  moved  over  on  to 
this  horror,  though  not  heavily  enough  to  crush  it. 
It  had  buried  its  venomous  nippers  in  her  shoulder, 
prior  to  crawling  away  to  die. 

A  shiver  ran  through  his  frame  as  he  beat  to  death 
the  great  noisome  insect — and  his  blood  seemed  to 
chill  with  a  superstitious  fear.  It  seemed  too  strange, 
too  marvellous  to  be  a  mere  coincidence.  Lindela 
had  defied  the  traditions  of  her  race,  and  now  she 
had  met  her  death  through  the  agency  of  the  very 
embodiment  of  those  traditions.  She,  a  daughter  of 
the  Kings  of  the  People  of  the  Spider,  had  met  her 
death  through  the  Spider's  bite.  It  was  horrifying  in 
its  sinister  appropriateness.  Was  it  really  a  thing  of 
witchcraft?  Did  the  Fiend  have  actual  bodily  power 
here,  in  "the  dark  places  of  the  earth"?  Had  this 
demoniacal  influence  followed  her  to  wreak  its  ven- 
geance here,  at  such  a  distance  from  the  home  and 
country  to  which  she  would  return  no  more? 

When  Laurence  Stanninghame  resumed  his  journey 
the  next  day  he  left  behind  him  a  grave1 — a  deep, 
secure  grave — a  solitary  grave  in  the  heart  of  the  un- 

332 


"A   DEEP— A   SOLITARY   GRAVE." 

trodden  forest.  His  journeyings  henceforth  must  be 
alone;  but  ofttimes  his  thoughts  would  go  back 
to  that  nameless  grave,  and  to  her  who  rested  forever 
therein.  Only  a  savage!  Only  a  heathen!  Yes — 
but  if  brave,  devoted,  self-sacrificing  love  is  of  any 
account  at  all  in  the  scheme  of  Christian  virtues, 
where  would  this  savage,  this  heathen,  come  in  at  the 
day  of  awards?  Where  indeed,  among  the  multitude 
of  gold-worshipping,  form-adoring  Pharisees?  Truth 
to  tell,  Laurence  believed  but  dimly  in  the  day  of 
awards.  Yet  did  it  exist,  he  thought  he  knew  the 
answer  to  his  own  question. 


333 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"  GOOD-BYE — MY    IDEAL!  " 

JOHANNESBURG  once  more.  The  great,  restless 
gold-town  had  passed  through  many  changes,  many 
booms  and  rumours  of  booms — the  latter  for  the  most 
part — since  that  quiet  trek  now  four  years  ago.  Many 
of  those  who  then  were  among  its  busiest  inhabitants 
had  departed,  some  to  a  land  whence  there  is  no  re- 
turn, others  to  the  land  of  their  respective  births. 
Many,  who  then  had  been  on  the  verge  of  millionaires, 
"  buzzing  "  their  rapidly  acquired  gains  with  a  lavish 
magnificence  which  they  imagined  to  be  "  princely  " 
— were  now  uncertificated  bankrupts,  or  had  blown 
their  brains  out,  or  had  come  within  the  meshes  of  the 
law  and  the  walls  of  a  convict  prison;  while  others, 
who  at  that  time  lived  upon  hope  and  the  "  whiff  of 
an  oiled  rag/'  now  fared  sumptuously  every  day,  and 
would  do  so  unto  their  lives'  end.  But  for  those  who 
had  held  on  to  the  place  through  good  and  evil  report, 
since  the  time  we  last  pioneered  our  reader  through 
its  dust-swept  streets  and  arid  surroundings,  some- 
thing of  a  surprise  was  in  store.  For  the  old  order 
of  things  was  reversed.  Instead  of  Hazon  returning 
without  his  travelling  companions,  the  latter  had  re- 
turned without  Hazon. 

"  Bless  my  soul,  Stanninghame,  is  that  you?  "  cried 
Rankin,  running  right  into  Laurence  one  morning 

334 


"GOOD-BYE—MY   IDEAL!" 

just  outside  the  new  Exchange.  "  And  Holmes  too? 
Why,  you're  looking  uncommonly  well,  both  of  you. 
What  have  you  done  with  the  pirate,  eh?  " 

"  Oh,  he's  coming  on!  "  replied  Laurence,  which  in 
substance  was  correct,  though  it  might  be  weeks  be- 
fore he  came  on;  for,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  Hazon  had 
remained  behind  at  a  certain  point  to  collect  and 
reduce  to  cash  such  gains  as  were  being  custodied  for 
him — and  the  joint  undertaking — by  sundry  of  his 
blood-brethren  the  Arab  chiefs. 

"Coming  on,  is  he?  W7ell,  well!  I  think  we've 
been  libelling  the  pirate  after  all,  eh  Rainsford?  "  as 
that  worthy  just  joined  them.  "  Here's  Hazon's  trek 
come  back  without  Hazon,  instead  of  the  other  way 
about." 

Laurence  thought  how  nearly  it  had  been  a  case  of 
the  other  way  about.  Had  he  not  offered  himself 
instead  of  Holmes,  it  would  have  been,  for  he  would 
have  remained  with  the  Ba-gcatya,  and  Hazon  would 
have  returned  alone.  Of  the  fate  of  Holmes — well — 
he  knew  what  that  would  have  been.  Holmes,  how- 
ever, did  not,  for  the  simple  reason  that  Laurence 
had  refrained  from  communicating  a  word  relating  to 
that  horrible  episode  to  either  of  his  associates — 
when,  shortly  after  parting  with  Rahman  ben  Zuhdi, 
and  the  death  of  Lindela,  he  had  found  the  two,  safe 
and  well,  at  the  principal  town  of  a  prominent  Arab 
chief.  And  Holmes,  possibly  through  ignorance  of 
its  nature  or  magnitude,  never  did  fully  appreciate  the 
sacrifice  which  the  other  had  made  for  him. 

"  What  do  you  think?"  went  on  Rankin,  when  the 
requisite  amount  of  greeting  and  chaff  had  been  ex- 

335 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

changed,  "  this  fellow  Rainsford  has  gone  and  got 
married;  has  started  out  in  the  nursery  department 
for  all  he's  worth." 

Laurence  laughed. 

"  Why,  Rainsford,  you  were  as  stony  broke  as  the 
rest  of  us  when  I  left.  Things  looking  up,  eh?  " 

"  Of  course.  I  told  you  it  was  a  case  of  *  down  to- 
day, up  to-morrow ' — told  you  at  the  time.  And  it's 
my  belief  you'd  have  done  better  to  have  remained 
here."  Then  lowering  his  voice;  "Where's  the 
pirate?" 

"  Coming  on." 

Rainsford  whistled,  and  looked  knowing. 

"What  do  you  say?"  cut  in  Rankin,  "a  drop  of 
gin  and  soda  wouldn't  hurt  us,  eh?"  Then  while 
they  moved  round  to  the  Exchange  bar,  he  went  on; 
"  I've  got  a  thing  that  would  suit  you  to  a  hair,  Stan- 
ninghame.  I'd  take  it  up  myself  if  I  could,  but  I'm 
only  an  agent  in  the  matter." 

"Shares,  eh?" 

"  Yes — Skinner  and  Sacks." 

"  Dead  off.  See  here,  Rankin — you  must  off-load 
them  on  somebody  else.  If  I  were  next  door  to  cer- 
tain of  making  half  a  million  out  of  it,  even  then  I 
wouldn't  touch  any  sort  of  investment  connected  with 
this  place.  No,  not  to  save  my  immortal  soul — if  I've 
got  one,  which  at  times  seems  doubtful."  And  there 
was  something  in  Laurence's  laugh — evoked  by  old 
time  recollections — which  convinced  the  other  that 
no  business  was  to  be  done  in  this  quarter  at  any  rate. 

There  was  method  in  the  way  in  which  Laurence 
had  sought  to  dawdle  away  the  morning.  He  had 

336 


"  GOOD-BYE— MY   IDEAL!" 

arrived  late  the  night  before,  and  as  yet  had  made  no 
inquiries.  How  strange  it  all  seemed!  Surely  it  was 
but  yesterday  that  he  was  here  last.  Surely  he  had 
slept,  and  had  dreamed  the  portentous  events  which 
had  intervened.  They  could  not  have  been  real.  But 
the  stones — the  great  diamonds — they  were  real 
enough;  the  metal  box  too — the  "Sign  of  the 
Spider." 

How  was  he  thus  transformed?  Later  in  the  day, 
as  he  stood  on  the  stoep  knocking  at  the  door  of  Mrs. 
Falkner  s  house,  he  was  conscious  that  his  heart  hardly 
beat  quicker,  that  his  pulses  were  as  firm  and  even  as 
ever.  Four  years  of  a  hard,  stern  schooling  had 
done  it. 

Yes,  Mrs.  Falkner  was  at  home.  He  was  ushered 
into  the  drawing  room,  which  was  empty.  There  was 
the  same  ever-clinging  scent  of  roses,  the  same  knick- 
knacks,  the  same  lounge  on  which  they  had  sat  to- 
gether that  night.  Even  the  battery  stamps  across 
the  kloof  seemed  to  hammer  out  the  same  refrain. 

The  door  opened.  Was  it  Lilith  herself?  No, 
only  Lilith's  aunt. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Stanninghame,  I  am  glad  to  see  you. 
But — how  you  have  changed!  " 

"  Well,  yes,  Mrs.  Falkner.  Time  has  knocked  me 
about  some.  I  can't  say  the  same  as  regards  yourself, 
though.  You  haven't  changed  an  atom." 

She  laughed.  "  That  can't  be  true.  I'm  sure  I 
feel  more  and  more  of  an  old  woman  every  day.  But 
sit  down,  do,  and  tell  me  about  your  adventures. 
Have  you  had  a  successful  trip?  " 

"  Pretty  well.  It  has  proved  a  more  paying  con- 
337 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE   SPIDER. 

cern,  at  any  rate,  than  the  exhilarating  occupation 
known  as  '  waiting  for  the  boom/  " 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  that.  And  your  friends — 
have  you  all  returned  safe  and  sound? " 

Laurence  replied  that  they  had.  But  for  all  his 
outward  equability,  his  impatience  was  amounting  to 
torment.  Even  while  he  talked  his  ears  were  strained 
to  catch  the  sound  of  a  light  step  without.  How 
would  Lilith  look?  he  wondered.  Would  these  four 
years  have  left  their  mark  upon  her? 

"  And  how  is  your  niece,  Miss  Ormskirk?  "  he  went 
on. 

"Lilith?  Oh,  but— by  the  way,  she  is  not  '  Miss 
Ormskirk '  now.  She  is  married." 

"  Oh,  is  she?  I  hadn't  heard.  After  all,  one  for- 
gets how  time  slips  by." 

That  was  all.  It  was  a  shock — possibly  a  hard 
one;  but  of  late  Laurence  Stanninghame  had  been 
undergoing  a  steady  training  for  meeting  such.  Mrs. 
Falkner — who  had  made  the  communication  not  with- 
out some  qualm,  for  she  had  been  put  very  much  up 
to  the  former  state  of  things,  both  by  her  nephew, 
George,  and  certain  "  signs  of  the  times,"  not  alto- 
gether to  be  dissimulated,  however  bravely  Lilith  had 
borne  herself  after  that  parting  now  so  far  back — 
felt  relieved  and  in  a  measure  a  trifle  disappointed, 
for,  womanlike,  she  dearly  loved  romance.  But  the 
man  before  her  had  not  turned  a  hair,  had  not  even 
changed  colour  at  the  intelligence.  It  could  not  really 
matter,  she  decided — which  was  as  well  for  him,  but 
for  herself  disappointing. 

"  Yes — she  married  her  cousin  George,  my  nephew. 
338 


"GOOD-BYE— MY   IDEAL!" 

You  remember  him,"  she  went  on.  "  I  was  against  it 
for  a  long  time;  but,  after  all,  I  believe  it  was  the 
saving  of  him,  poor  fellow,  he  was  so  wildly  in  love 
with  her.  He  was  simply  going  to  the  dogs.  Yes, 
it  was  the  saving  of  him." 

"  That's  satisfactory,  anyway,"  said  Laurence,  as 
though  he  were  discussing  the  fortunes  of  any  two 
people  whose  names  he  had  just  heard  for  the  first 
time.  But  meanwhile  his  mind  was  inwardly  aveng- 
ing itself  upon  its  outward  self-control.  For  vividly, 
and  as  though  spoken  into  his  ears,  there  seemed  to 
float  fragments  of  those  farewell  words  uttered  there 
in  that  room:  "You  have  drawn  my  very  heart  and 
soul  into  yours.  .  .  .  Oh,  it  is  too  bitter!  Laurence,  my 
darling — my  love,  my  life,  my  ideal,  good-bye — and 
good-bye! " 

Well,  the  foolish  dream  had  been  a  pleasant  one 
while  it  lasted.  Nay,  more, — in  all  seriousness  it  had 
borne  momentous  fruit, — for  no  less  than  three  times 
had  that  episode — yes,  now  it  seemed  a  mere  episode 
— intervened  between  him  and  death. 

"  Lilith  will  be  so  glad  to  see  you  when  you  are 
passing  through;  for  of  course  you  will  be  returning 
home  again.  They  have  taken  a  bungalow  at  Kalk 
Bay  for  the  summer.  I'll  find  you  the  address." 

They  talked  on  a  little  longer,  and  then  Laurence 
took  his  departure. 

As  he  gained  the  outer  air  once  more  there  was 
that  about  the  shimmer  of  the  sunlight,  the  hum  of 
the  battery  stamp,  the  familiarity  of  the  surroundings, 
which  reminded  him  of  that  former  time  when  he 
had  thus  stepped  forth,  having  bidden  a  good-bye 

339 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

which  was  not  a  good-bye.  Yet  the  same  pain  did 
not  grip  around  his  heart  now — not  in  its  former 
acuteness — rather  was  it  now  a  sense  of  the  falling 
away  of  all  things.  By  a  freak  of  psychology  his  mind 
reverted  to  poor  Lindela,  dying  in  his  arms  in  the 
steamy  gloom  of  the  equatorial  forest:  dying  slowly, 
by  inches,  in  pain;  yet  uttering  no  cry,  no  complaint, 
lest  she  should  rob  him  of  a  few  minutes  more  or  less 
of  sleep.  That  was  indeed  love.  Still,  even  while 
making  it,  his  sense  of  philosophy  told  him  the  com- 
parison was  not  a  fair  one. 

Well,  that  was  over — another  chapter  in  his  life  to 
shut  down.  Now  to  make  the  best  of  life.  Now, 
with  the  means  to  taste  its  pleasures,  with  hard,  firm 
health  to  enjoy  them;  after  all,  what  was  a  mere 
sentimental  grievance?  Perhaps  it  counted  for  some- 
thing, for  all  he  told  himself  to  the  contrary.  Per- 
haps deep  down  there  gna»wed  a  restless  craving,  stifle 
it  as  he  would.  Who  can  tell? 

"  The  R.  M.  S.  Alnwick  Castle  leaves  for  England 
at  4  P.  M." 

Such  was  the  notice  which,  posted  up  in  shipping 
office,  or  in  the  short  paragraph  column  of  the  Cape 
Town  newspapers,  met  the  public  eye. 

It  was  the  middle  of  the  morning.  Laurence 
Stanninghame,  striving  to  kill  the  few  hours  remain- 
ing to  him  on  African  soil,  was  strolling  listlessly 
along  Adderley  Street.  A  shop  window,  adorned 
with  photographic  views  of  local  scenery  and  types  of 
natives, — mostly  store-boys  rigged  up  with  shield  and 

340 


"GOOD-BYE— MY   IDEAL!" 

assegai  to  look  warlike  for  the  occasion, — attracted 
his  attention,  and  for  a  while  he  stood,  idly  gazing  at 
these.  His  survey  ended,  he  backed  away  from  the 
window  in  a  perfectly  irrational  and  British  manner 
on  a  busy  thoroughfare,  and — trod  hard  on  some- 
body's toes.  A  little  cry  of  mingled  pain  and  resent- 
ment, then  he  stood — profusely  apologizing. 

But  with  the  first  tones  of  his  voice,  she  whom  he 
had  so  awkwardly,  if  unintentionally  damaged,  seemed 
to  lose  sight  of  her  injuries.  Her  face  blanched,  but 
not  with  physical  pain,  her  lips  parted  in  a  sort  of 
gasp,  and  the  sweet  eyes,  wide  and  dilated,  sought  his 
in  wonder — almost  in  fear. 

"Laurence!" 

The  name  was  hardly  audible,  but  he  heard  it. 
And  if  his  steely  philosophy  had  stood  him  in  good 
stead  before,  assuredly  at  this  moment  his  guard  was 
down;  as  he  recognized  that  he  had  last  beheld  this 
serene  vision  of  loveliness,  arrayed  as  now  in  cool 
white,  strained  to  him  in  farewell  embrace  alone  in 
the  solemn  night,  those  parted  lips  pressed  to  his  in 
heart-wrung  pain,  those  sweet  eyes,  starry,  humid 
with  love,  gazing  full  into  his  own.  And  now  they 
met  again,  four  years  later — by  chance — in  a  busy 
thoroughfare. 

"  Pray  excuse  my  inexcusable  awkwardness;  I  must 
have  hurt  you,"  he  said,  as  they  clasped  hands,  and 
the  tone  was  even  almost  formal,  for  he  remembered 
they  were  in  public. 

"  You — you — have  changed.  I  should  hardly 
have  known  you  but  for  your  voice,"  she  said  un- 

341 


THE   SIGN   OF  THE  SPIDER. 

steadily — for  he  had  turned  to  walk  up  the  street  with 
her.  "  But — when  did  you  return?  I — had  not 
heard." 

"  Had  you  not?  I  called  on  your  aunt  in  Johannes- 
burg on  the  way  through.  She  was  telling  me  all 
about  you." 

Something  of  relief  seemed  to  manifest  itself  in 
Lilith's  tone  as  she  rejoined: 

"  But  you — are  you  staying  here?  " 

"  Well,  no.  I  have  been  trying  to  kill  time  until 
this  afternoon.  I  am  leaving  by  the  Alnzvick  Castle." 

"Oh!  By  the  Alnwick  Castle?"  she  repeated 
again — and  in  the  catch  in  her  voice,  and  the  quick- 
ness of  utterance,  he  knew  she  was  talking  at  random, 
for  the  sake  of  saying  something,  in  fact. 

"  Do  you  care  to  hear  a  little  of  what  has  befallen 
me  since  I  went?  "  he  said.  "  Then  let  us  turn  in 
here,"  as  she  made  a  mute  but  eager  gesture  of  assent. 

They  had  gained  the  entrance  to  the  oak  avenue 
at  the  back  of  Government  House.  Strolling  up  this, 
they  turned  into  the  beautiful  Botanical  Gardens. 
Nobody  was  about,  save  a  gardener  or  two  busied 
with  their  work. 

"  What  I  am  going  to  tell  you  is  so  marvellous  that 
you  will  probably  refuse  to  believe  it,"  he  said,  after 
narrating  the  incident  of  the  sign  upon  the  metal  box 
which  had  arrested  the  uplifted  weapons  of  the  un- 
sparing Ba-gcatya,  and,  of  course,  editing  out  all  that 
might  have  revealed  the  real  nature  of  the  expedition. 
"  I  have  never  breathed  one  word  of  it  to  any  living 
being — not  even  to  those  who  were  with  me.  I 
would  rather  you  did  not  either,  Lilith,  because  it  is 

342 


"GOOD-BYE— MY  IDEAL!" 

too  strange  for  anybody  to  believe,  and — for  other 
reasons." 

She  gave  the  required  promise,  and  he  drew  forth 
the  box.  At  sight  of  this  relic  of  the  past,  that  sweet, 
entrancing,  if  profitless  past — Lilith  could  no  longer 
quite  keep  herself  in  hand.  The  tears  welled  forth, 
falling  upon  the  metal  box  itself — hallowing,  as  it 
were,  the  sweet  charm  of  its  saving  power. 

"  Your  love  had  power  to  save  one  life,  you  see," 
he  went  on  in  a  cold,  even  voice,  intended  to 
strengthen  him  against  himself.  "  But  look,  now — 
see  those  marks  on  the  lid,  just  discernible?  Now 
—listen." 

And  Lilith  did  listen;  and  at  the  description  of  the 
awful  rock  prison,  with  its  skeleton  bones,  the  long 
hours  of  helpless  suspense  and  despair — and  the  final 
struggle  in  the  ghastly  moonlight;  the  struggle  for 
life  with  the  appalling  monster  that  tenanted  it,  her 
eyes  dilated  with  horror,  and  with  pallid  face  and 
gasping  lips  she  begged  him  not  to  go  on,  so  great  a 
hold  did  the  incident  take  upon  her  imagination,  even 
there,  in  the  blaze  of  the  broad  midday  sunlight. 

"  I  have  done  now,"  he  said.  "  Well,  Lilith — you 
see  what  that  token  of  your  love  has  rescued  me 
from.  It  was  given  as  an  amulet  or  charm,  and  right 
well  has  it  fulfilled  its  purpose.  But — to  what  end?  " 

"  Did  you — did  you  come  back  with  what  you  went 
for,"  she  broke  forth  at  last,  as  with  an  effort. 

"  Yes.  Therein,  too,  you  proved  yourself  a  true 
prophet.  And  now  tell  me  something  about  your- 
self." 

"  Were  you — angry  with  me  when  you  heard  what 

343 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

I  had  done,  Laurence?  "  she  said,  raising  her  eyes  full 
to  his. 

"Angry?  No.  Why  should  I  be?  Your  life  is 
your  own,  though,  as  a  rule,  sacrificing  ones'  self  to 
save  somebody  else,  as  your  aunt  rather  gave  me 
to  understand  was  the  case  here,  is  lamentably  apt  to 
turn  out  a  case  of  throwing  away  one's  life  with  both 
hands.  It  is  too  much  like  cutting  one's  own  throat 
to  save  somebody  else  from  being  hanged." 

"  And  is  that  your  way  of  wishing  me  well,  Lau- 
rence?" she  said  reproachfully. 

"  No.  I  wish  you  nothing  but  well.  It  would  be 
futile  to  say  '  happiness,'  I  suppose." 

"  The  happiness  of  doing  one's  duty  is  a  hard  kind 
of  happiness,  after  all,"  she  said,  with  a  sad  little 
smile. 

"  Yes.  An  excellent  copybook  maxim,  but  for  all 
purposes  of  real  life — bosh.  Am  I  not  in  my  own 
person  a  living  instance  to  that  effect?  As  soon  as 
I  pitched  '  duty '  to  the  dogs,  why  then,  and  only 
then,  did  I  begin  to  travel  in  the  contrary  direction 
to  those  sagacious  animals  myself — which,  of  course, 
is  simply  appalling  morality,  but — it's  life.  Well, 
child,  make  the  best  of  your  life,  and  prove  a  shining 
exception  to  fne  dismal  rule." 

"  Do  you  remember  our  talk  on  board  the  dear  old 
Persian?  Yes,  we  had  so  many,  you  were  going  to 
say;  but  I  mean  our  first  one,  the  first  serious  one — 
that  night,  leaning  over  the  side,  I  asked  you :  '  Shall 
I  make  a  success  of  life?'  Do  you  remember  your 
answer? " 

"  As  well  as  though  it  were  yesterday.  I  replied 
344 


"  GOOD-BYE— MY   IDEAL  ! " 

that  the  chances  were  pretty  even,  inclining,  if  any- 
thing, to  the  negative.  Well,  and  was  I  right?  " 

Lilith  turned  away  her  head.  He  could  see  that 
the  tears  were  not  far  away.  Her  lips  were  quivering. 

"  I  likewise  told  you  you  were  groping  after  an 
ideal,"  he  went  on. 

"  And  I  found  it.  Perhaps  I  had  already  found  it 
when  I  asked  the  question.  Oh,  Laurence,  life  is  all 
wrong,  all  horribly  wrong  and  out  of  joint,"  she  burst 
forth,  with  a  passionate  catch  in  her  voice,  as  she 
turned  and  faced  him  once  more. 

"  Yes,  I  know  it  is.  I  came  to  that  conclusion  a 
goodish  while  ago,  and  have  never  seen  any  reason 
since  to  doubt  its  absolute  accuracy." 

"All  out  of  joint!"  she  repeated  hopelessly.  "It 
is  as  if  our  lives  had  been  placed  opposite  each  other 
on  parallel  lines,  and  then  one  of  the  lines  had  been 
moved.  Then  our  lives  lay  apart  forever." 

"  That's  about  it." 

She  was  not  deceived.  His  tone  was  hard;  to  all 
appearances  indifferent.  Yet  not  to  her  ear  did  it  so 
ring.  She  knew  the  immensity  of  effort  that  kept 
it — and  what  lay  behind  it — under  control.  Then  she 
broke  down  entirely. 

"Laurence,  my  love — my  doubly  lost  love!"  she 
uttered  through  a  choking  whirlwind  of  sobs. 
"  Teach  me  some  of  your  strength — some  of  your 
hardness.  Then,  perhaps,  I  can  bear  things  better." 

"  A  chain  is  no  stronger  than  its  weakest  link,  re- 
member, and  perhaps  you  have  shown  me  the  weak 
link  here — that  of  my  '  hardness/  Child,  I  would 
not  teach  you  an  iota  of  it,  if  I  could.  It  is  good  for 

345 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

me,  but  no  woman  was  ever  the  better  for  it  yet.  But 
keep  yourself  in  hand  now.  We  are  in  a  public  place, 
although  a  comparatively  secluded  one.  For  your 
own  sake,  do  not  give  way.  And  for  the  very  reason 
that  I  feared  to  stir  up  old  memories,  I  had  intended 
to  go  through  without  attempting  to  see  you  once 
more.  Tell  me  one  thing — would  it  have  been  better 
had  I  done  so?" 

"  Better  had  you  done  so?  No — no.  A  thousand 
times  no — Laurence,  my  darling.  I  shall  treasure  up 
this  last  hour  we  have  spent  together — shall  treasure 
it  as  the  sweetest  of  memories  as  long  as  life  shall 
last." 

"And  I  shall  treasure  up  that  reply.  Listen! 
Twice  has  your  love  stood  between  me  and  death, 
as  I  have  told  you.  Yet  of  the  third  time  I  have 
never  told  you.  It  was  the  day  I  decided  to  go  up- 
country.  I  had  done  with  life.  The  pistol  was 
pressed  hard  against  my  forehead.  I  was  gradually 
trying  how  much  more  pressure  the  trigger  would 
bear.  A  hair's  breadth  would  have  done  it.  Then  it 
seemed  that  your  voice  was  in  my  ear.  Your  form 
stood  before  me.  I  tell  you,  Lilith,  you  saved  me 
that  day  as  surely  as  though  you  had  actually  been 
within  the  room.  I  put  the  pistol  down." 

"I  did  this?"  wonderingly.  "Why,  that  must 
have  been  the  day  I  had  that  awful  dream." 

"  It  was.  Hazon  came  in  just  after,  and  we  made 
our  plans  for  the  expedition.  I  remember  telling  you 
of  it  that  same  afternoon." 

"  Why,  then,  if  this  is  so,  it  must  have  been  with 
some  great  purpose,"  she  cried,  brightening  up,  a 

346 


"  GOOD-BYE— MY   IDEAL!" 

strange,  wistful  smile  illumining  her  face.  "  Oh,  how 
glad  I  am  you  have  told  me  this,  for  now  I  can  see 
comfort — strength.  In  some  mysterious  way  it  seems 
as  if  our  two  lives  were  intertwined,  that  it  would 
ever  be  in  my  power  in  some  dim  way  to  watch  over 
yours.  My  darling,  my  darling — until  this  moment  I 
had  not  the  strength  to  part  with  you — now  I  have. 
Let  me  do  so  before  it  leaves  me,  for  we  have  been 
here  a  very  long  time.  I  would  have  seen  you  off 
on  board,  but  that  I  dare  not.  I  simply  lack  the 
strength  of  will  to  bear  that,  Laurence,  my  dear  one. 
We  had  better  say  good-bye  here — not  in  the  crowded 
street.  Then  I  will  go — alone." 

Both  had  risen,  and  were  holding  each  others 
hands,  were  gazing  into  each  other's  eyes.  Thus 
they  stood  for  a  moment.  Nobody  was  in  sight. 
Lilith  lifted  her  lips,  and  they  moved  in  a  barely 
audible  murmur. 

"  Good-bye,  my  ideal!" 

One  long,  close,  farewell  kiss,  and  she  was  gone. 
And  the  man,  as  he  flung  himself  back  on  the  garden 
seat,  with  his  eyes  fixed  dreamily  on  the  jutting  end 
of  the  massive  rock  wall  of  Table  Mountain  towering 
on  high  to  the  cloudless  blue,  realized  at  that  moment 
no  elation  such  as  one  might  feel  who  had  found  con- 
siderable wealth,  and  was  returning  full  of  hard,  firm 
health  to  enjoy  the  same.  More  than  ever  at  that 
moment  did  life  seem  to  him  all  out  of  joint — more 
than  ever,  if  possible;  for  his  had  been  one  of  those 
lives  which,  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  never  seems 
to  be  anything  else. 


347 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

CONCLUSION. 

"  WELL,  Fay,  I  think  that's  about  enough  for  one 
lesson.  Down  you  get/' 

"  Just  once  more  round  the  park,  father,"  was  the 
pleading  rejoinder.  "  I'm  quite  beginning  to  feel  at 
home  on  Tricksie  now." 

Laurence  gave  way,  and  Tricksie  darted  off,  per- 
haps a  trifle  too  vivaciously  for  a  learner  of  the  noble 
art  of  horsemanship.  But  the  girl  kept  her  seat 
bravely,  and  the  conceded  scamper  being  brought  to 
a  close,  she  came  round  to  where  Laurence  awaited, 
and  slid  from  her  saddle. 

"  Father,  I  won't  have  you  call  it  '  lessons '  any 
more,"  she  cried.  "  I  can  ride  now;  can  ride — do  you 
hear! " 

"  Oh,  can  you?"  laughed  Laurence,  thinking  what 
a  pretty  picture  she  made  standing  there  with  the  full 
light  of  the  setting  sun  tinting  the  golden  waves  of 
her  hair,  playing  upon  the  great  dark  eyes.  Indeed, 
he  owned  inwardly  to  a  weakness,  a  soft  place  as 
strange  as  it  was  unwonted,  for  this  child  of  his.  Yet 
she  was  something  more  than  a  child  now,  quite  a 
tall  slip  of  a  girl  at  the  angular  age;  but  there  was 
nothing  awkward  or  angular  even  then  about  Fay 
Stanninghame. 

"  Well,  hitch  up  the  pony  to  the  rail  there,"  he  went 
348 


CONCLUSION. 

on.  "  Those  two  scamps  can  take  him  in  when  they 
are  tired  of  careering  around  and  whooping  like  Sioux 
on  the  war-path." 

The  two  boys,  also  happy  in  the  possession  of  a 
pony  apiece,  had  lost  no  time  either  in  learning  to 
ride  it. 

"  There's  no  part  of  a  fool  about  either  of  those 
chaps,"  said  Laurence,  more  to  himself  than  to  the 
girl,  as  he  watched  the  two  circling  at  full  gallop  in 
and  out  among  the  trees,  absolutely  devoid  of  fear. 
"  Let's  stroll  a  little,  Fay ;  or  would  you  rather 
go  in?" 

"  Of  course,  I  wouldn't,"  linking  her  arm  in  his. 
"  Father,  are  we  very  rich  now?  " 

"  Oh,  pretty  warm.     Think  it  fun,  eh,  child?" 

"Fun?  Why  it's  heavenly.  This  lovely  place! 
Oh,  sometimes  I  dream  that  this  is  all  a  dream,  and 
then — to  wake  up  and  find  it  real!  " 

"  Well,  dear,  be  as  happy  as  you  like  now — all  day 
and  every  day.  You  have  had  enough  of  the  other 
thing  to  last  you  a  precious  long  time." 

They  strolled  on  through  the  sweet  May  evening — 
on  beneath  a  great  beech  hanger,  where  cushats 
cooed  softly  among  the  green  mast,  and  the  air 
was  musical  with  the  sweet  piping  of  thrushes  and 
the  caw  of  homing  rooks.  Here  and  there  a  gap  in 
the  hawthorn  hedge  disclosed  a  glimpse  of  red-tiled 
roof  and  farm  stack — and  nestling  among  the  trees  of 
the  park  the  chimneys  of  the  Hall. 

Laurence  Stanninghame  had  found  this  place  by  a 
mere  chance.  He  might  have  purchased  it  for  a  third 
of  its  value,  but  he  preferred  not.  Possibly  he  dis- 

349 


THE   SIGN    OF   THE   SPIDER. 

trusted  the  wandering  blood  within  him,  possibly  he 
did  not  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  where  he  had  found 
the  great  diamonds  he  had  certainly  left  behind  many 
more,  to  be  found  or  not  at  some  future  time.  So  he 
rented  the  house  and  park,  and  extensive  shooting 
and  fishing  rights.  No  more  pinching  and  scraping 
now.  To  the  children  this  change  was,  as  Fay  had 
said,  "  heavenly." 

"  How  do  people  get  rich  in  Africa,  father? "  said 
the  latter,  as  they  turned  homeward. 

"  In  various  ways.  They  find  gold  mines  with  no 
gold  in  them,  and  then  sell  shares  in  them  to  a  pack 
of  idiots  for  a  great  deal  of  money.  Or  they  perhaps 
find  a  few  diamonds  themselves.  Or  they  trade  in  all 
sorts  of  things — ivory,  and  so  forth." 

He  had  stopped  to  light  a  pipe;  Fay,  intently 
watching  his  face  through  the  clouds  of  smoke  he 
was  puffing  forth,  detected  a  lurking  quizzical  expres- 
sion in  his  eyes,  which  roused  her  scepticism. 

"  I  never  quite  know  whether  you  are  serious  or 
not,  father,"  she  said.  "  But  you  never  tell  us  any 
stories  about  Africa." 

"  I've  got  out  of  practice  for  story-telling,  little 
one." 

"  But  Colonel  Hewett  tells  us  plenty," — naming  a 
neighbour, — "  and  yet  he  hasn't  been  so  much  in 
Africa  as  you  have." 

"Ah,  he'll  never  get  out  of  practice  in  that 
line,"  returned  Laurence,  with  the  same  quizzical 
laugh. 

"  What  a  lot  of  adventures  you  must  have  had, 
father,"  went  on  Fay  wistfully;  for  this  was  a  sore 

350 


CONCLUSION. 

subject  both  with  herself  and  her  brothers.  They  had 
expected  tale  upon  tale  of  hair-raising  peril — of  lions 
and  crocodiles  and  snakes  and  fighting  Zulus.  But 
woeful  disappointment  awaited.  The  last  topic  the 
returned  wanderer  seemed  to  care  to  talk  upon  was 
that  of  his  wanderings. 

Before  they  regained  the  house  they  were  joined 
by  the  two  boys,  happy  and  healthy  with  their  recent 
gallop,  and  full  of  the  trout  they  were  going  to  catch 
on  the  morrow  under  the  tuition  of  the  keeper.  Lau- 
rence, dismissing  them  for  a  while,  entered  quietly  by 
a  back  way.  The  post  had  come  in,  and  with  it  an 
African  mail  letter.  This  he  carried  into  his  private 
sanctum.  It  was  from  Holmes. 

"  I  hope  the  fellow  isn't  going  to  make  trouble," 
he  said  to  himself  with  a  slight  clouding  of  the  brow. 
"  He's  idiot  enough  to  turn  pious — repentant,  I  sup- 
pose, they  would  call  it — and  give  the  whole  thing 
away.  '  Nothing  but  a  curse  can  come  of  it, — the 
curse  of  blood/  the  young  fool  said,  or  words  to  that 
effect.  I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  '  curse  '  it  is  that  puts 
one  in  possession  of  all  this,"  looking  out  upon  the 
soft,  peaceful  English  landscape,  hayfield  and  wooded 
hill,  slumbering  in  the  gathering  dusk.  "  As  if  there 
could  be  a  greater  curse  anyhow  than  being  con- 
demned to  go  through  life  that  most  pitiable  object — 
a  pauper  with  sixteen  quarterings.  No — no !  " 

He  tore  open  the  envelope,  and  in  the  fading  light 
ran  rapidly  over  its  contents.  Hazon  had  returned 
to  Johannesburg,  and  had  wound  up  all  their  affairs, 
and  each  of  them  was  in  possession  of  more  than  a 
small  fortune.  There  was  nothing,  however,  of  the 


THE   SIGN   OF   THE   SPIDER. 

remorseful  or  the  morbid  about  the  writer  now,  and, 
turning  over  the  page,  Laurence  broke  into  a  short 
half  laugh,  for  there  followed  the  announcement  of 
Holmes'  engagement  to  Mabel  Falkner  of  the  blue 
eyes,  and  the  usual  transports  and  rhapsodies  attend- 
ant upon  such  a  communication.  Skipping  the  bulk 
of  this,  Laurence  returned  the  missive  to  his  pocket 
with  another  sneering  laugh. 

"  We  shall  hear  no  more  about  a  '  curse '  on  our 
good  fortune  now,  friend  Holmes,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  for  you  are  entering  upon  an  institution  calculated 
to  knock  out  all  such  Quixotic  niceties.  Ha,  ha!  I 
shouldn't  be  in  the  least  surprised  if  in  a  little  while 
you  didn't  hanker  to  start  up-country  again  upon 
another  *  ivory  '  trade." 

But  Holmes'  letter  had,  as  it  were,  let  in  a  waft  of 
the  dark  cloud  of  the  Past  upon  the  fair  and  smiling 
peacefulness  of  the  Present,  and  he  fell  to  thinking 
on  what  strange  experiences  had  been  his — of  the  con- 
sistent and  unswerving  irony  of  life  as  he  had  known 
it.  Every  conventionality  violated — every  rule  of 
morality,  each  set  aside,  had  brought  him  nothing 
but  good — had  brought  nothing  but  good  to  him  and 
his.  Had  he  grovelled  on  in  humdrum  poverty- 
stricken  respectability,  what  would  have  befallen  him 
— and  them?  For  him  the  stereotyped  "  temporary 
insanity  "  Verdict  of  a  coroners  jury — for. them,  well, 
Heaven  only  knew.  Whereas  now? 

At  this  stage  an  impulse  moved  him,  and  opening 
a  locked  cabinet  he  took  forth  something,  and  as  he 
examined  it  the  associations  of  the  thing,  and  the 
fast  darkening  room,  brought  back  the  vision  of 

352 


CONCLUSION. 

glooming  rock  walls  and  a  perfectly  defenceless  man 
weighed  down  with  horror  and  dread. 

"  May  I  come  in,  father?  But  you  are  in  the 
dark." 

It  was  Fay's  voice.  He  half  started,  so  rapt  was 
he  in  his  meditations. 

"  That's  soon  remedied,"  he  said,  striking  a  light. 
"  Yes,  come  in,  little  one.  You  were  asking  about 
this  thing  once.  Look  at  it — queer  sort  of  weapon, 
isn't  it?  " 

"  It  is,  indeed,"  she  answered.  "  Is  it  a  Zulu  war 
club?  Why,  the  head  is  made  of  brass,  or  is  it  gold? 
And  look,  there  is  some  strange  writing  on  it." 

"  And  the  handle  is  a  bone.  Yes,  the  head  is  gold, 
and  I  put  the  thing  together  when  I  had  no  other 
weapon — ay — and  used  it,  too,  in  the  ghastliest  kind 
of  fight  I  ever  was  in.  Come,  now,  we  will  put  it 
away  again." 

"  Not  yet,  father.  Show  me  some  more  queer 
things,"  she  pleaded,  nestling  to  his  side. 

Then  he  got  out  other  trophies  and  curios,  and  Fay 
spent  a  good  hour  of  unalloyed  delight  turning  them 
wonderingly  over,  and  drinking  in  the  incident,  more 
or  less  stirring,  which  related  to  each. 

But  there  was  one  thing  he  did  not  show  her;  one 
thing  upon  which  no  eye  save  his  own  might  ever 
again  rest;  one  thing  he  treasured  up  in  the  greatest 
security  under  lock  and  key,  which  was  enshrined 
within  his  mind  as  a  hallowed  "  charm,"  and  that  was 
the  metal  box  and  its  contents — the  "  charm  "  which 
twice  had  stood  between  him  and  death — death  vio- 
lent and  horrible — The  Sign  of  the  Spider. 

353 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY—TEL.  NO.  642-3405 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 
on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 


DEC     819695  ( 

.__     *t\  ft  tl 

__^»«-v  i'"rh 

j\N  2-  /U-^RM 

RECTO  U5 

\ 

LD21A-60m-6,'69 

(J9096slO)476-A-32 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


LIBRARY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  BEFORE  CLOSING  TIME 
ON  LAST  DATE  STAMPED  BELOW 


LIBRARY  USE 

IIQV  ^i  E969 

REC'D  LD 

N0l'21'69-6pg 

- 

i 

LD  62A-30m-2  '69 
(J6534slO)9412A—  A-32 

General  Library 
University  of  California 
Berkeley 

